"Now, my dear friend, I'm going to ask a favor of you. Promise me you won't misunderstand."
"I'll try not," she said faintly, and her heart misgave her.
"Promise me that you'll leave us to ourselves when we have our little talk. I know your interest in Hephzibah's future—"
In her relief Agatha became jocular. "No, you don't know. You can't. Her welfare means as much to me as my own."
"I'm not doubting that. Please don't misunderstand me. But sometimes I think these sensitive natures can open up better to a stranger than to a friend. And the fact that I'm blind may be a help to her."
"Yes," agreed Agatha with unmistakable sincerity, "I'm pretty sure it will be."
"There's something mysterious about that girl," Forbes continued. "The way she refuses to listen to propositions that are all clearly for her good, puzzles me. I'm convinced that if I can have her to myself an hour or so, I'll get at the root of the trouble. Anyway it's worth trying."
Relieved from the terrifying certainty that he was about to ask her to chaperon them during the interview, Agatha had almost ceased to dread the prospective ordeal. But prudence suggested the advisability of seeming a little hurt. "I shouldn't have interfered in any way," she assured him plaintively. "Since you've set your heart on talking to Hephzibah, I should have sat quietly in the background and not said a word."
"Better not," Forbes interposed hastily. "Let me have my way this time. And when we talk it over afterward, I'll tell you every word that was said as nearly as I can remember."