Audrey sank into a chair and sat silent. Her sweet, pure, high-bred face was turned in profile to her mother. Lady Frances glanced at it, and thought over the circumstances which had brought Evelyn into their midst.
“To think that that girl should supplant her!” thought the mother; and her anger was so great that she could not keep quiet. She was going out of the room to speak to her husband, but before she reached the door Audrey called her.
“What are you going to do, mother?”
“It is only right that I should tell you, Audrey. An idea has come to me. Evelyn respects your father; if I told him just what I have told you he might induce her to confess.”
“No, mother,” said Audrey suddenly; “do not let us lower her in his eyes. The strongest possible motive for Evelyn to confess her sin will be that father does not know; that he need never know if she confesses. Do not tell him, please, mother; I have got another thought.”
“What is that, my darling?”
“Do you not remember Sylvia—pretty Sylvia?”
“Of course. A dear, bright, fascinating girl!”
“Evelyn is fond of her—fonder of Sylvia than she is of me; perhaps Sylvia could induce her to confess.”
“It is a good thought, Audrey. I will ask Sylvia over here to dine to-morrow evening.”