Susannah gathered the delicate fragrant loveliness into her arms and to her breast. She could feel the agitated heart beating close to hers and the wet cheek pressed on her shoulder.
"I wonder what she knows of him?" was her swift thought. "Perhaps it is better this way."
Selina sobbed like a child—in a helpless and stricken fashion, clinging tightly the while to Miss Chressham, desperately revolving some means of comfort and help.
But Miss Boyle was the first to speak.
"I want you to see him"—she steadied herself with an effort. "Will you?"
Susannah was silent. Miss Boyle withdrew from her embrace and mastered struggling sobs.
"I want you," she said humbly, pleading with wet eyes, "to show him—that," she pointed to the paper by the neglected tea-table, "before he sees it for himself, and to ask him—for—" She hesitated.
"For your sake," finished Miss Chressham, looking away. "Well?"
"To—to ignore it—to suppress it if he can; but to ignore it. Tell him that I am going away—if I can; but that I confide in him to make nothing of it. Oh, you know what to say!" She paused, then gathered strength again. "Will you do this, dear?"