“Shall I bring you some supper, Miss Muir?”
“Supper!” she ejaculated, with a start. “Who thinks of one’s body when one’s soul is—” She stopped there, knit her brows, and laughed faintly as she added, “No, thank you. I want nothing but advice, and that I dare not ask of anyone.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have no right.”
“Everyone has a right to ask help, especially the weak of the strong. Can I help you? Believe me, I most heartily offer my poor services.”
“Ah, you forget! This dress, the borrowed splendor of these jewels, the freedom of this gay evening, the romance of the part you played, all blind you to the reality. For a moment I cease to be a servant, and for a moment you treat me as an equal.”
It was true; he had forgotten. That soft, reproachful glance touched him, his distrust melted under the new charm, and he answered with real feeling in voice and face, “I treat you as an equal because you are one; and when I offered help, it is not to my sister’s governess alone, but to Lady Howard’s daughter.”
“Who told you that?” she demanded, sitting erect.
“My uncle. Do not reproach him. It shall go no further, if you forbid it. Are you sorry that I know it?”
“Yes.”