"I'm going," the girl replied, picking up the odds and ends she had left and placing them in her travelling bag.
Cleo watched her furtively:
"I—I—ought to tell you something that I know about your life—"
Helen dropped a brush from her hand and quickly crossed the room, a bright color rushing to her cheeks:
"About my birth?"
"You believe," Cleo began cautiously, "that the major is the agent of your guardian who lives abroad. Well, he's not the agent—he is your guardian."
"Why should he deceive me?"
"He had reasons, no doubt," Cleo replied with a smile.
"You mean that he knows the truth? That he knows the full history of my birth and the names of my father and mother?"
"Yes."