“An error in judgment, like a poor man kidnapping a baby heiress, we will say.”
“You are making fun of me,” she said, faintly; but her face was crimson and he knew he was on the right track.
“And marrying her,” he continued, “and then the sharp young heiress found him out.”
“And forgave him,” she said, quickly. “Don’t forget that, ’Steban. She was cross at first, but she forgave him.”
“Why did she forgive him, Nina?” and he lowered his voice and his black head at the same time until he was within an inch of her face.
She drew back stiffly. “Because she had promised solemnly to stand by him.”
“When did she promise to stand by him?” he continued.
“When she married him; but he was hateful to her, and mysterious, and would not tell her things—’Steban, whose child am I?”
“It is almost dinner-time,” he observed, blandly. “You would do well to go and comb out that tousled, brown thicket.”
“I know that Mrs. Danvers is not my mother,” she said, intensely. “It is cruel to keep me in suspense. Is my mother living, ’Steban?”