“Not call you that? What does it all mean?”
“I cannot tell you now, dear. Think of me always as a very dear friend. I am worthy to be called so, and some day I will tell you all my past.”
“But—”
“No, no; not now. Let us go up to your room.”
“Yes, before Aunt comes. I cannot meet her now.”
“No; and to-morrow, if your father can bear it, go to him and tell him what took place to-night—all that I have said. He can easily find out the truth, and he will not allow Sir Cheltnam Burwood to speak to you again.”
“You think so?” cried the girl excitedly.
“I know it, dear. Your father has been hard and obstinate of will, but he loves his children as an English gentleman should; and, as a man of honour, when he knows all, he will never sanction that man’s presence here.”
“And—when I tell him, you will speak? It is so terrible. He will want to know all the past.”
“No: I cannot be Sir Cheltnam Burwood’s accuser, even now.”