Flea had not expected this, and had no time to think of a reason for her anger. Deliberating a moment, she placed her head on her arm. It would be dangerous to tell him about Brimbecomb. If the bright-eyed man in the drawing-room had only let her go before kissing her—if he had only remembered his love for Ann! She knew Horace was waiting for her to speak; but her mind refused absolutely to concoct a reasonable excuse, and she could not tell him a deliberate lie, as she had to Ann.
For what seemed many minutes Horace looked at her.
"Fledra," he said at length, "am I worthy of your confidence?"
His question brought her up with a jerk. Would she dare tell him? Would he be silent if he knew that Sister Ann was being perfidiously used? She was sure he would not.
"If I tell you something," she began, "you won't never tell anybody?"
"Never, if you don't want me to."
She leaned forward and looked straight at him.
"I just lied to Sister Ann," she said.
Horace's face paled and he grasped the arms of his chair. Presently he asked sharply:
"Why did you lie to my sister, Fledra?"