"That's for you to decide. You know what's up; I don't. You know why you turned so queer this morning when Collins stopped the pony-trap, and why you are out all by yourself close on midnight."
"I went to see Susy Collins. I don't know why you should speak to me in that tone."
"Do stop bothering about my tone, Ermie. Can't you see that you have done frightfully wrong? I—I——" He gulped down something in his throat. "There; I can't speak of it, I think I'm stunned. I simply can't make out what has come to you, having secrets with a girl my father has forbidden you to know!"
"I haven't secrets with her."
"You have. For goodness' sake, don't add lying to all the rest of it. Would you have turned so white this morning if you hadn't a secret, and would you have crept out of the house in this disgraceful way if you hadn't a secret? Come, Ermie, I'm older than you—and—and—our mother isn't here. Tell me all about it, Ermie."
This was Ermengarde's chance. For the moment the severe young judge before her was softened; a memory of his mother had done it; that, and the knowledge that Ermengarde was younger and frailer than himself. Had she told him the whole truth then, she might have saved herself with Basil. Like many another, however, she let the golden moment pass.
For half a minute she was absolutely silent. Then she said in her most stubborn voice: "I don't tell lies—I have no secret with Susy. I went to her to-night because I was sorry for her, and because I—I—I was afraid to stay long enough this morning. Everyone is so horridly hard on me because I befriend a poor little girl like Susy, and now when she is ill and all. That's why I went to her secretly, because—because people make me afraid."
"When you say people, you mean our father?"
"Well, yes; I think it is horrid of father to make such a fuss about my knowing Susy. Mother wouldn't have done it."
"Hush, don't bring mother into this conversation, Ermengarde," Basil knit his brows in pain.