There was a fresh note in Kitty's voice—a note of resolve. Her eyes looked full of determination; she was holding herself very erect. Bertha had never been worried by the thought of Kitty: a girl in her opinion so insignificant. Now she looked at her with a new feeling of terror and also respect.
"I don't understand," she said; "in what way have you made up your mind?"
"I have spoken to Sir John and also to my father. They know—they cannot help knowing—that I knew you, and that my dear friend, Sir John Wallis, knew you some years ago; but we do not want to injure you, so we will not say a word about it. You can rest quite content; we will not talk of your past."
"In particular you will not talk of my past to Mr. Trevor?"
"No, not even to Mr. Trevor. In short," continued Kitty, "we have made up our minds to respect your secret, but on a condition."
"Yes?" said Bertha. She spoke in a questioning tone.
"As long as you behave in a perfectly straightforward way; as long as I have no reason to feel that you are doing anything underhand to anybody's name, we will respect your secret and leave you undisturbed in the possession of your present post. I think," continued Kitty, "that I partly understand matters. You have come here without telling Mrs. Aylmer what occurred at Cherry Court School and at Cherry Court Park; you don't want her to know how terribly you injured my great friend, Florence Aylmer. If you will leave Florence alone now, if you will do nothing further in any way to injure her, I and those I belong to will respect your secret. But if I find that you are tampering with Florence's happiness, then my duty will be plain."
"What will your duty be?" said Bertha. As she spoke she held out a lump of sugar to a pretty white fantail which came flying to receive it. She raised her eyes as she spoke and looked full at Kitty.
"I shall tell what I know," said Kitty. "I think that is all." She turned on her heel and walked away.