“Now, listen, Nancy,” said Augusta; “I am speaking quite frankly to you. I will be as open to you as you are to me.”
“Well, what are you going to say?” asked Nancy.
“This: it might do me great harm if you were to tell now, but if you will only wait until the holidays are over and we are back in town, why, I will give you leave to say anything you please.”
“Why would my telling now injure you? I need not mention your name. I just want to tell dear, kind Mrs. Richmond about my own part. And of course I want to tell Uncle Peter. It is so dreadful to look into his eyes and to know that I am not what he thinks me! May I not tell my part and leave yours out? Please—please let me, Gussie. You can’t know the pain of the burden I am bearing, and how miserable I am.”
“You couldn’t tell your part without telling mine,” said Augusta, “and I don’t wish mine spoken about at present. You will have to be silent. But never mind, Nancy; you—shall tell, as I promised you, when we get back to London. Won’t you be kind to me and keep the secret until then?”
“And may I positively—certainly—tell when we get back to London?” asked the child.
“Yes; have I not said it? And now, let us talk no more of the matter.”
“But, Augusta,” said Nancy, rising, “will you do something for me—if I agree to this, will you do something definite?”
“Oh, what a queer child you are!” said Augusta. “What am I to do?”
“Will you write it down?”