‘I hope that means that she is better,’ I said.
‘She is better, and, I hear, going on the Continent, as soon as the season will permit. But, Mr Cumbermede, you must be aware that I am under considerable restraint in talking to you. The position I hold in Sir Giles’s family, although neither a comfortable nor a dignified one—’
‘I understand you perfectly, Miss Pease,’ I returned, ‘and fully appreciate the sense of propriety which causes your embarrassment. But the request I am about to make has nothing to do with them or their affairs whatever. I only want your promise to let me know if you hear anything of Miss Osborne.’
‘I cannot tell—what—’
‘What use I may be going to make of the information you give me. In a word, you do not trust me.’
‘I neither trust nor distrust you, Mr Cumbermede. But I am afraid of being drawn into a correspondence with you.’
‘Then I will ask no promise. I will hope in your generosity. Here is my address. I pray you, as you would have helped him who fell among thieves, to let me know anything you hear about Mary Osborne.’
She took my card, and turned at once, saying,
‘Mind, I make no promise.’
‘I imagine none,’ I answered. ‘I will trust in your kindness.’