'Are we talking like strangers, Marcella?'
She flushed, and her eyes gleamed as they fixed themselves upon him for an instant. He had never before dreamt of addressing her so familiarly, and least of all in this moment was she prepared for it. Godwin despised himself for the impulse to which he had yielded, but its policy was justified. He had taken one more step in disingenuousness—a small matter.
'Let it be one of those things on which even friends don't open their minds to each other,' he pursued. 'I am living in solitude, and perhaps must do so for several years yet. If I succeed in my purposes, you will see me again on the old terms; if I fail, then too we shall be friends—if you are willing.'
'You won't tell me what those purposes are?'
'Surely you can imagine them.'
'Will you let me ask you—do you look for help to anyone that I have seen here?' She spoke with effort and with shame.
'To no one that you have met,' he answered, shortly.
'Then to some one in Exeter? I have been told that you have friends.'
He was irritated by her persistency, and his own inability to decide upon the most prudent way of answering.
'You mean the Warricombe family, I suppose?'