The unaccustomed feeling was almost more than Denzil could cope with. He became quite absent-minded, and seemed as if some curious oppression lay upon him.
He rose, after a few minutes, and stood squarely before Rona, his hands behind him. "What is your last news of your brother?" he asked.
Rona looked up, startled. "He—he has not written at all lately," she said. "You know Mr. Vronsky and he went back to Siberia, to the mines there, after establishing his patent in Europe."
"What do you think he would say to me if I allowed you to go off and live alone, without consulting him? I hope you won't think me a tyrant, but I don't see how I can sanction your going off alone without his written permission."
Aunt Bee murmured assent. "Strange how necessity spurs the wit!" she thought.
"You know, I feel you would not be safe alone in London," said Denzil, seriously. "No—not simply because you are a girl; I know girls do these things now. But because you have enemies, and they might find you out. Remember you are not yet of age. What if your uncle should try to recapture you?"
He saw that this shot had told. Rona grew white. "Oh!" she said, irresolutely, "but I should think that is safe now. He has left me alone all this time."
"But he may be watching for just such a chance."
She lifted her liquid eyes to his face. "I do not want to go away," she said frankly, "but I do not want to be a burden—a sponge. You have been so kind, I want you to know that I am very far from expecting you to do more."
Her look fell away from the expression in his.