‘I’m not sure that she’s married. But if she isn’t, no doubt she ought to be.’
On Nancy’s part there was a nervous movement, but she said nothing. Her face grew rigid.
‘I have an idea who the man is,’ Miss. French pursued; ‘but I can’t be quite certain. One has heard of similar cases. Even you have, no doubt?’
‘I don’t care to talk about it,’ fell mechanically from Nancy’s lips, which had lost their colour.
‘But I’ve come just for that purpose.’
The eyes of mocking scrutiny would not be resisted. They drew a gaze from Nancy, and then a haughty exclamation.
‘I don’t understand you. Please say whatever you have to say in plain words.’
‘Don’t be angry with me. You were always too ready at taking offence. I mean it in quite a friendly way; you can trust me; I’m not one of the women that chatter. Don’t you think you ought to sympathise a little with Fanny? She has gone to Brussels, or somewhere about there. But she might have gone down into Cornwall—to a place like Falmouth. It was quite far enough off—don’t you think?’
Nancy was stricken mute, and her countenance would no longer disguise what she suffered.
‘No need to upset yourself,’ pursued the other in smiling confidence. ‘I mean no harm. I’m curious, that’s all; just want to know one or two things. We’re old friends, and whatever you tell me will go no further, depend upon that.’