“No, it was not his health,” said Stargarde reluctantly.
“What was it?” asked Vivienne wistfully.
“My dear child, you have confidence in me?”
“Most implicit confidence.”
“Then take my advice; go to Stanton Armour. He knows more about your parents than any man living. He will tell you just what is good for you to know. Will you do this?”
“Yes,” said Vivienne, in a constrained voice. “But you speak as if there were some mystery. Surely there is nothing that all the world may not know?” Stargarde looked down at her compassionately. “Sometimes,” said Vivienne, struggling with an emotion that she could not altogether hide, “sometimes I fancy that there is something I do not understand. Judy once gave me a hint of it. Mammy Juniper in her ravings urges the wicked Ephraim to make restitution to some one that I think is my father. Do you know what she means, Stargarde?”
“Go to Stanton,” said her friend, with a lovely smile of pity and affection. Then leaning forward till Vivienne felt her sweet breath on her face added, “You need comforting; let me rock you.”
She held out her arms invitingly, and half laughing, half protesting Vivienne found herself, dignity and all, enwrapped in a close embrace. Stargarde had her on her lap and was rocking back and forth, soothing her as a mother would a child.
To and fro they went, the one slim and graceful, with dark skin, brilliant and questioning eyes, and black hair lying loosely on her forehead, the other a Venus of Milo, who held her burden, tall as it was, as easily as she would have held a baby.
The soreness and tightness about Vivienne’s heart gave away, and burying her face on Stargarde’s shoulder she shed a few surreptitious tears.