"Let us go back," she said. They turned down the crooked path towards the ruined chapel.
"What was the news that you had for me?" he asked suddenly.
"Why, of course," she answered; "I meant to have told you before." Then, more gravely, "It's about Robin——"
"About Robin?"
"Yes. I don't know really whether I ought to tell you, because, after all, it's only chatter and mother never gets stories right—she manages to twist them into the most amazing shapes."
"No. Tell me," he insisted.
"Well—there's a person whom mother knows—Mrs. Feverel. Odious to my mind, but mother sees something of her."
"A lady?"
"No—by no means; a gloomy, forbidding person who would like to get a footing here if she could, and is discontented because people won't know her. You see," she added, "we can only know the people that other people don't know. This Mrs. Feverel has a daughter—rather a pretty girl, about eighteen—I should think she might be rather nice. I am a little sorry for her—there isn't a father.
"Well—these people have, in some way, entangled Robin. I don't quite know the right side of it, but mother was having tea with Mrs. Feverel yesterday afternoon and that good woman hinted a great deal at the power that she now had over your family. For some time she was mysterious, but at last she unburdened herself.