Mr. Somerset had been teasing Poppy in the meantime, and laughing with the others.
"What a pretty name," said Miss Row, who was very curious and wanted to find out more; but she already knew enough of Esther to understand that she must not let her curiosity be apparent.
"Yes, it is," agreed Esther, by her little vanity falling easily into the trap laid for her; "and she is so pretty, too, and she had such a lovely voice once. She was a very famous singer years ago, but she never sings now—"
Then remembering, she stopped suddenly in her chatter, colouring hotly with anger with herself, and embarrassment, as she glanced round and saw all eyes fixed on her. It seemed to her that every one was listening to her indiscreet, foolish talk. Mr. Somerset had ceased playing with Poppy, and was listening with particular interest.
"Mademoiselle Leperier," he cried, drawing nearer. "You don't mean to say she is in the neighbourhood! You never told me," turning to Miss Row, "what a celebrity you had in your midst. I should so much like to meet her—quite an interesting personality. I have always wanted to know her. Don't you know her story?" And in a few brief, cold words he gave the outline of the bitter tragedy of the singer's life.
Esther chafed and boiled with anger against them, and resentment and rage with herself. She realised to the fall now what she had done. She had destroyed Mademoiselle Leperier's peace and seclusion. She had laid her open to curiosity and unwelcome visitors, and—and she might even have driven her from that neighbourhood, and Mademoiselle would know it was her fault, and blame her, and never like her again.
Oh! it was bitter to think that she had done it, she who loved Mademoiselle so, and knew and understood her, who meant to have been such a comfort to her. Poor Esther was heartbroken as she realised it all. Something must be done, she determined. She must do something to undo some of the mischief. She could not let things go on like this; it was too dreadful.
They turned to her full of inquiries. Where did Mademoiselle Leperier live? What did she look like? Who lived with her? etc. etc. Esther set her lips tight. They should get no more out of her. In the first place she could decline to tell them where Mademoiselle lived. If they determined to find out, she must find some means of preventing their going.
When Miss Row had asked three or four questions and got no answer, she began to grow annoyed. "What is the matter with you, child? Why don't you speak when you are spoken to? Don't you know how rude it is?"
"Yes, I do know," said Esther, in a very trembling voice, "and I am very sorry, but I am not going to tell any one anything more about Mademoiselle. I—I ought not to have said anything. I promised her I wouldn't. I am very sorry I did—"