“Well,” said Miss Tallant, impatiently.
“Do you remember a confession you once made—it is a long time ago now—to the young lady who was Miss Tallant then and your patroness.”
The questioner looked up to his sister to note the effect of his interrogation; but there was no change in Amy’s face, though she began to suspect why her visitor had exercised so much assumption of power and authority in this unexpected interview.
“You were sitting together in the summer-house yonder on a spring morning not unlike the present, and you entered into some very interesting details with regard to myself, and also concerning your love, or fancy, or liking, or whatever it is called, for Earl Verner’s brother.”
Amy did not lose her self-control even at this point of the conversation; but she remembered the time to which he alluded, and remembered it vividly, for she had always believed that Richard Tallant had overheard all she and Phœbe said on that particular occasion.
“When you pressed your ear against the keyhole?” she said, with a scornful look.
“No, that was not necessary,” said Mr. Tallant; “the door was open a little way, and two voices forced themselves upon my attention—that is the courteous way of putting it.”
“Well, you have something more to say? Better say all you desire.”
“It occurred to me that you might spare me the pain of proceeding further, and that you would write to Twyzell and Kits at once.”
“Since the subject is becoming interesting at last, I have no desire to put an end to it now,” said Amy, who had some little time previously sat down, with the table between herself and her visitor.