"Does Cecily come to see you?" was his next question, uttered as if unconcernedly.
"No."
"But you know about her? You know where she is?"
"Yes."
"Tell me what you know, Miriam. How is she living?"
"I had much rather not speak of her. I don't feel that I have any right to."
"Why not?" he asked quickly, standing still. "What is there to hide? Why had you rather not speak?"
"For reasons that you understand well enough. What is it to you how she lives?"
He searched her face, like one suspecting a studied ambiguity. His eyes, which were a little bloodshot, grew larger and more turbid; a repulsive animalism came out in all his features.
"Do tell me what you know, Miriam," he pleaded. "Of course it's nothing to me; I know that. I have no wish to interfere with her; I promise you to do nothing of the kind; I promise solemnly!"