"My dear sir, to what do you allude?" asked Miss Nelson.
"To something which you cannot have forgotten, for I spoke seriously to you on the subject. I said that Ermengarde was to hold no intercourse with a little girl called Susan Collins. I had my reasons for this, quite independent of the fact that the child belongs to a lower class of life. I know that she is the daughter of a vain and silly mother, and, even if she were her equal by birth, would be the worst possible companion for Ermengarde. Did I not make my wishes on this point very plain to you. Miss Nelson?"
Miss Nelson rose from her seat.
"Certainly, my dear sir; most certainly," she said; "and I—I agree with you. I more than agree with you. Susan is not a companion for Ermengarde. I have been careful about your wishes, Mr. Wilton; I respect them, and my own fully coincide with them. I only—I only gave Ermengarde permission to go to Susan for five minutes yesterday because the child was feverish and badly hurt after her accident."
"Her accident! Yes, poor little girl, I have heard of that; but I was not alluding to yesterday, nor to anything that occurred then. Please sit down again, Miss Nelson; I see you are not to blame. Ermengarde, come here. Who were you walking with the day before yesterday, between eleven and twelve o'clock, in the Nightingale Grove?"
Ermengarde's face turned first white and then crimson. Her eyes sought the ground. She bit her lips and clasped her hands nervously.
"Answer me at once," said Mr. Wilton, in his sternest voice.
The little girl made an effort to speak. Suddenly she did a thing which astonished both her father and the governess. She flew to Miss Nelson's side, and clasped her arms round her neck.
"Do tell him not to be angry with me! I'm so awfully miserable," she sobbed.
"Tell your kind father the truth, my dear. Speak up; be brave," whispered the governess back, touched in spite of herself by any token of softness from Ermie.