“Perhaps,” smiled Father Dormer, “it is not quite such a secret as you imagine.”
“Oh, yes, it is,” nodded Trix. “It is the most complicated affair that ever was, and the most extraordinary. Nobody would believe it if they didn’t know.” She sighed.
Father Dormer watched her. He saw that she evidently did consider it a complicated situation, though, in spite of her rather complicated explanation it had appeared quite simple to him. At all events, the solution had. It had not even—as soon as he had grasped the question she had come to ask—appeared to involve much difficulty of answering. It was quite obvious she ought not to run the risk of telling lies (he could guess that her honesty would make it exceedingly difficult for her to evade any awkward questions without telling them), mainly because it was never right to tell lies, but also because the smallest white one—so-called—would appear extremely black to Trix.
“Is that settled now?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” said Trix. She looked at her watch. “I’ve two hours; I had better do it at once.” Then she stopped suddenly. “Oh, Father!” she exclaimed.
“Well?” he queried.
“You didn’t guess, did you?”
“How could I?” he asked smiling.
“Oh, because saying that told you that C lived here.”
He laughed. “My dear child, when you arrive at Woodleigh one day, and ask me a rather complicated question the next, it is perfectly obvious it is one which has to be settled in this neighbourhood, and at once. I could hardly imagine you have travelled down here on purpose to consult me; or that, if it were a question to be settled in town, you would not wait till your return to consult some other priest on the subject.”