"I thought I heard father telling you," said Marjorie.
"He was too indignant," said Mrs. Pope, "to explain clearly. You see, Marjorie"—she paused before her effort—"he knows things—about this Professor Trafford."
"What things?" asked Marjorie, turning sharply.
"I don't know, my dear—and I can't imagine."
She looked out of the window, aware of Marjorie's entirely distrustful scrutiny.
"I don't believe it," said Marjorie.
"Don't believe what, dear?"
"Whatever he says."
"I wish I didn't," said Mrs. Pope, and turned. "Oh, Madge," she cried, "you cannot imagine how all this distresses me! I cannot—I cannot conceive how you came to be in such a position! Surely honour——! Think of Mr. Magnet, how good and patient he has been! You don't know that man. You don't know all he is, and all that it means to a girl. He is good and honourable and—pure. He is kindness itself. It seemed to me that you were to be so happy—rich, honoured."
She was overcome by a rush of emotion; she turned to the bed and sat down.