"What I have said has been for my brother's sake," he assured her, compunction stirring at his heart. "But I believe it to be equally good for yours. You may not think so to-day, but you may take my word for it that you will come to think so."
He clasped her hand reassuringly for a moment; then she went.
The letter from Sir Francis Forcus had been on Deleah's breakfast plate. The family had the bad habit of expecting to see each other's letters. They all knew who it was who had written, and what he had asked. At supper, when the family met again it was expected of Deleah to describe the interview, and publicly proclaim what had taken place.
Preferring to keep the matter to herself, she had eluded her mother and sister by going without her tea, gaining only by the delay the addition, to those already agog for her news, of the innocent Franky, of the ever-curious Emily, of an Honourable Charles consumed with jealous fears.
They would not even let her take her place at table before they were upon her. "Well?" inquired Bessie, alert, her suspicious, bright eyes upon her sister, who appeared a little pale of face, a little languid of manner, the effect of going without her tea, perhaps.
"Well?" Deleah echoed.
"I don't suppose it's a secret. Mama, I don't suppose Deleah has been sent for by Sir Francis Forcus for anything she can't tell!"
Emily, pouring out the lodger's supper beer, remarked that Miss Deleah was always one to keep things to herself, even when she had been a baby.
"I can't imagine, Deleah, what he can have wanted with you," Mrs. Day said, in answer to Bessie's appeal.
"It was nothing much, mama."