“Lady Frances,” said Sylvia.
“Yes my dear; what?”
“I am going to say something which may not be quite polite, but I am obliged to say it. I cannot answer any of your questions; I cannot tell you anything about myself.”
“Really?”
“Not because I mean to be rude, for in many ways I should like to confide in you; but it would not be honorable. Do you understand?”
“I certainly understand what honor means,” said Lady Frances; “but whether a child like you is acting wisely in keeping up an unnecessary mystery is more than I can tell.”
“I would much rather tell you everything about myself than keep silence, but I cannot speak,” said Sylvia simply.
Lady Frances looked at her in some wonder.
“She is a lady when all is said and done,” she said to herself. “As to poverty, I do not know that I ever saw any one so badly dressed; the child has not sufficient clothing to keep her warm. When last I saw her she was painfully thin, too; she has more color in her cheeks now, and more flesh on her poor young bones, so perhaps whoever she lives with is taking better care of her. I am curious, and I will not pretend to deny it, but of course I can question the child no further.”
No one could make herself more agreeable than Lady Frances Wynford when she chose. She chatted now on many matters, and Sylvia soon felt perfectly at home.