"Some of this I guessed," she said; "but it was not for me to speak."
Miss Boyle looked up.
"You guessed!" she exclaimed. "What must you have thought of me?"
"I thought it was no wonder," she answered.
"You are too gentle with me." Miss Boyle raised her hand to an agitated bosom and pressed her heart. "But, indeed, I never wrote to him again nor saw him save in public"—her voice was piteously humble—"until he sent me this letter, which—ah, I should not have answered it! But I could not have married Francis, you must understand. I told him so. I had no right." She turned her head away sharply. "And now it is chalked up for all the world to see!" she said in a muffled voice; "I shall be the talk of London—and, since it is true, what am I to do?"
"Rose or Sir Francis will see it, and the matter will be out of our hands, my dear."
"That is the least bearable thought," answered Miss Boyle, "that they should meet on my account—and over this."
Miss Chressham crossed to her chair.
"Do you then hope to conceal it?"
"If I could!"