“Denton—dear old nurse,” she said affectionately, “you must be patient and wait. We are all in a terrible state of perplexity; do not increase it by asking questions.”
The old woman caught her hand and kissed it affectionately.
“Not another word will I say, my dear, till you speak to me. But, Miss Gertie, I know I’m right. This last one is Master George. Why, my darling, you can see it in his eyes and in his fine manly way to me—the poor old woman who nursed him as a child.”
“Yes, yes, Denton; but please say no more now.”
“Only one word, my dear, and it’s about you. If the other comes back and wants you to side with him, and be his wife, don’t listen to him. You shall not. I’d sooner kill him than he should ever take you in his arms.”
“Denton!”
“I’ve done, my dear. It was only my love for the little girl I helped to bring up that made me speak. Don’t be angry with me, dear. I forget sometimes that I’m only a servant. That’s right. If you only smile at me like that you make me feel so happy again.”
Gertrude returned to the dining-room, to find that a discussion was going on, and the doctor speaking.
“Then you feel it is our duty to remain silent?”
“Most decidedly. Whatever your feelings may be you must recollect that we have accepted this gentleman as James Harrington’s heir. The pretender—”