“This was an impulse,” said Vivienne. “I have always intended to ask you some questions; but we are so seldom alone—and though my father and mother are much in my thoughts I dread to mention their names. Can you understand?”
Stargarde replied by a pressure of her hand.
“They are sacred to me,” said Vivienne dreamily. “I would not for the world have the Armours know that I often wake up sobbing because my parents have been taken from me. You know I am supposed to be a proud person,” and she looked up at Stargarde, her eyes filled with tears.
“You are not proud—that is, not too proud,” said Stargarde warmly. “You are an ardent, generous girl, with a heart full of love that will be bestowed on your fellow-creatures.”
Vivienne suddenly put her hands to her face. “O Stargarde, Stargarde,” she exclaimed, “how shall I tell Captain Macartney that I cannot marry him? And Mr. Armour, what will he say?”
“Do not afflict yourself too much. You have made a mistake, as many another girl has done. The only way to make amends is to say, I have done wrong—forgive me. Then start over again. That is all any of us can do in the perpetual error of this life.”
Vivienne looked up over her shoulder and pressed one of Stargarde’s hands adoringly to her lips. They had slipped into their usual relation. The girl was sitting at the feet of the woman she so much loved. She was curled up on the hearth rug, her red draperies wound around her, her back against Stargarde’s knees.
“Let us return to my question,” said Vivienne at length, “my parents. Will you not tell me what you know about them? Was my father,” proudly, “as became his peasant up-bringing, a boorish man, or was he a gentleman?”
“The latter, I think, from what I have heard; you know I never saw him. He is said to have been a gentle, amiable young man, a favorite with all who knew him.”
“And what made him leave the Armours? I have always fancied that it was his health.”