It was Pauline who began the conversation.
“I have just been talking to Miss Sampson in the garden, Miss Merivale. How very happy she seems here!”
“Yes, I think she is happy, my dear.”
“And if you and Rosie had not come to the flat that afternoon, you might never have heard of her. How strangely things come about, don’t they, dear Miss Merivale?”
“I am very glad we came,” Miss Merivale answered. “What colour shall I use for this leaf, my dear? My eyes are not what they used to be, and I like to take advice.”
Pauline bent forward to look, and patiently discussed the question; but she spoke of Rhoda again directly it was decided. “But something still more strange might have happened, Miss Merivale,” she went on lightly. “Suppose Miss Sampson had been your own niece? She might have been. People who are supposed to be lost in the bush aren’t always lost, and—Oh, Miss Merivale, what have I said?”
Miss Merivale had dropped her work, and was staring at Pauline with wide-open, terrified eyes. She made no effort to answer her. She was incapable of speech.
“What have I said?” repeated Pauline. She got up and came close to Miss Merivale, kneeling down beside her. “You are angry with me. I have hurt you. Is it possible that Rhoda is your niece, and that you do not want her to know it? But you must trust me. Please trust me, Miss Merivale.”
Miss Merivale put her hand up to her eyes. She spoke in a stunned voice. Pauline’s words had suddenly torn away the veil which had hidden the meaning of her own conduct from her.
“Yes, Rhoda is my niece,” she said. “She is my sister Lydia’s little girl. What made you guess it?”