CHAPTER IX
“My sister has begged you to keep secret what you have seen to-night—has she not?” was Hetty’s first inquiry, spoken without haste and without excitement.
A mute bow replied.
“And you have promised to do it?”
“I told Mrs. Wayt that she might depend upon my discretion.”
“Which she construes into a pledge to connive at a wrong done to a church and a community,” in precisely the same tone and manner as before.
March stared at her perplexedly. What did the girl mean? And was this resolute, impassive woman of business the blushing trembler who, a month ago, could not deny her love for him? She was very serious now, but apparently very tranquil.
“You would say, if you were not too kind-hearted, that this is what I am doing—what I have been doing for nearly ten years—and you would be right. It would not exculpate me in your opinion if I were to represent that Mr. Wayt’s profession is all that stands between his family and the poorhouse; that I do not habitually attend the church in which he officiates, and that my name has never appeared upon the record of any one of the parishes of which he has had charge since I became a member of his family. Mr. Wayt and I have not exchanged a syllable directly for over five years. I neither respect nor like him. He can never forgive my knowledge of his character, and my interference with his habits. These were confirmed before I came to my sister.”