“May I ask what that has got to do with you?”
“Well, I know too, you see,” said Trix, feeling her heart beginning to beat still more quickly.
“How do you know? What questions have you been asking?”
Trix flushed.
“I haven’t asked any questions,” she said quickly. “I saw him the day I came here before. I knew his face then, but I couldn’t remember who he was. Afterwards I remembered I used to play with him when I was a child.”
“Well?” queried Nicholas briefly.
“Well,” echoed Trix desperately, “I want to be able to tell someone he is Antony Gray, and not Michael Field. It is really very important that they should know, important for their happiness. But if I tell, they may want to know where I saw him, and ask questions which might lead to my either having to tell lies or betray your secret. If it becomes necessary, may I betray your secret? Will you release me from my promise?”
Nicholas’s hand clenched tightly on the arm of his chair.
“Most certainly not,” he replied shortly.
The tone was utterly final. Trix felt the old childish fear of him surging over her. It was quite different from the nervousness she had just been experiencing, and, oddly enough, it gave her a kind of desperate courage. She had no intention of accepting his refusal without a struggle.