"Lucy!" Again Jane stopped and looked out of the window. "You remember the letter I wrote you some years ago, in which I begged you to tell Ellen's father about Archie and Barton Holt?"
Lucy's eyes flashed.
"Yes, and you remember my answer, don't you?" she answered sharply. "What a fool I would have been, dear, to have followed your advice!"
Jane went straight on without heeding the interruption or noticing Lucy's changed tone.
"Do you intend to tell Max?"
"I tell Max! My dear, good sister, are you crazy! What should I tell Max for? All that is dead and buried long ago! Why do you want to dig up all these graves? Tell Max—that aristocrat! He's a dear, sweet fellow, but you don't know him. He'd sooner cut his hand off than marry me if he knew!"
"I'm afraid you will have to—and this very day," rejoined Jane in a calm, measured tone.
Lucy moved uneasily in her chair; her anxiety had given way to a certain ill-defined terror. Jane's voice frightened her.
"Why?" she asked in a trembling voice.
"Because Captain Holt or someone else will, if you don't."