“I came—I came—Why did YOU come? Why did you leave us as you did? Without a word!”
She turned and faced me.
“You know why I left you,” she said. “You know. You knew all the time. And yet you let me believe—You let me think—I lived upon your money—I—I—Oh, don't speak of it! Go away! please go away and leave me.”
“I am not going away—without you. I came to get you to go back with me. You don't understand. Your aunt and I want you to come with us. We want you to come and live with us again. We—”
She interrupted. I doubt if she had comprehended more than the first few words of what I was saying.
“Please go away,” she begged. “I know I owe you money, so much money. I shall pay it. I mean to pay it all. At first I could not. I could not earn it. I tried. Oh, I tried SO hard! In London I tried and tried, but all the companies were filled, it was late in the season and I—no one would have me. Then I got this chance through an agency. I am succeeding here. I am earning the money at last. I am saving—I have saved—And now you come to—Oh, PLEASE go and leave me!”
Her firmness had gone. She was on the verge of tears. I tried to take her hands again, but she would not permit it.
“I shall not go,” I persisted, as gently as I could. “Or when I go you must go with me. You don't understand.”
“But I do understand. My aunt—Miss Cahoon told me. I understand it all. Oh, if I had only understood at first.”
“But you don't understand—now. Your aunt and I knew the truth from the beginning. That made no difference. We were glad to have you with us. We want you to come back. You are our relative—”