"Have you seen Mr. Wilberforce?"
"Yes. Last night."
"Did you ask his advice?"
"Yes."
"What was it?"
"To do nothing. To wait."
At that, thought of her own love affair obsessed the girl's mind. She visualized James, there, in the very chair which Cavendish occupied. Remembering a thousand unspoken hesitancies of James, she saw only too clearly the reason of those hesitancies.
"How long has Mr. Wilberforce known about--about you and my sister?"
"Some weeks, I believe."
"You're sure?" The wounds hurt again, hurt desperately. James ought to have told her. "He never said a word--to me." She could have borne it better from James than from Cavendish.