"Why of course not?"
"Because there isn't any."
This seemed a good reason. But Miss Clement felt that either she—or this boy—was being deceived.
The Vandal, whose drowsy eyes had scarcely moved from the study of her face since she entered the room, saw the look of disappointment. It was a somewhat petulant expression in which she would not have indulged had her host been twenty years older. But he saw it so clearly that he was moved to sympathy. With all the joy and enthusiasm of a great idea, he exclaimed: "My father may know all about her. I will ask him to tell you!"
A chill of horror swept up Miss Clement's spine. She suddenly realized what awful mischief a youthful savage—either from ignorance or perversity—might accomplish. She stood up. "No! Don't mention it to him—nor to anybody."
"Why not?'
"Because you mustn't."
She could see, in the Vandal's face as he looked up at her, that he enjoyed this—to him—unaccountable fright. He even laughed. "There's nothing to be afraid of."
"No, of course not!" And she tried to smile. "But promise me you will not ask your father, nor anybody else."
To this super-sensitive lady there appeared in his uplifted eyes a cruel, triumphant delight, as he said—"Why did you ask if you don't want to know about her?"