"Oh, but it is impossible to tell you," I replied.
The colour rushed into my cheeks, then it receded, leaving them very pale. I knew they were pale, for I felt so cold.
Lady Mary changed her seat. She came over, took a low chair, seated herself by my side, and stretching out her hand, clasped one of mine in hers.
"Dear," she said, in a gentle tone, "you are very young, are you not?"
"I suppose so," I answered, "but I do not feel so. I am eighteen."
"Ah! But eighteen is extremely young; I know that, who am twenty-eight; my brother Hawtrey is forty."
"I know," I said, "your brother is old, is he not? I thought I might come to see a kind old man. Have I done wrong?"
"No, child, you have not done wrong; nevertheless, you have done something that the world would not approve of. Now, I want you to come away to my house. I live in another part of London; in my house you can see my brother if you wish, but why do you not confide in me? I should like to be your friend."
I looked straight up at her. After all, she was nearer to my own age. Could I not tell her? I said impulsively:
"I will go away to your house with you and I will tell you there, and you can advise me what I ought really to do."