"You ought to see some one. Something ought to be done."
She shook her head with quiet despair. "It would be no use—no one would know."
"What do you mean—would know?"
"No one would understand."
"You ought to make them!"
"Never—never!" she repeated. "Never!"
"I confess I don't," I replied, with a kind of angry renunciation. I played louder, with the passion of my uneasiness and the aggravation of my responsibility.
"No, you don't indeed," said Louisa Chantry.
I had only to accept this disadvantage, and after a moment I went on: "What became of Mr. Brandon?"
"I don't know."