Her confidence was unshaken yet.
“I don’t believe a word of it,” she said to Lady Randal, as she assisted her to her room.
“But, aunt, it must be so. Mrs. Coolidge’s word is indisputable.”
“Maybe you think so,” retorted her ladyship, irritably.
“The evidence is so clear, too,” resumed her niece, unheeding her remark. “I have feared from the first that you were being imposed upon. That’s always the way with these girls who have no recommendation; they are all adventuresses. I only hope you won’t find that she has helped herself from your belongings.”
“Shut up, Helen! You are always ready to believe the worst of everybody. I tell you I believe that there has been foul play in this matter, and, if the girl has gone away, she has been driven away in some underhanded manner. I can read the signs of the times, if I am a superannuated, and I shall not rest until I know more of this matter,” and the crusty old lady actually shed tears over the absence of the patient, gentle girl, to whom she was becoming deeply attached.
“The very fact of her giving a false name goes against her,” persisted Lady Randal.
“That was not just the thing, of course,” was the rather subdued reply. Then she added, as if a new thought struck her: “I believe that I was to blame for that, after all. I had a bad cold at that time, and was as deaf as a post. I am convinced now that she gave me her name correctly, and I misunderstood her, and she, having had trouble with those folks, let it go so.”
“She had no business to do that,” returned Lady Randal, with an expression of righteous indignation.
“If she never does anything worse than give an assumed name, she’ll be better than some folks whom I know. I reckon you’ve some sins on your conscience, Helen, blacker than any that poor girl ever thought of,” said Lady Ruxley, spitefully.