"I should say you are of gentle blood?"
"Oh yes."
He paused. I paused. I saw that he expected I should tell him something more about myself and my family; and I would willingly have told all, but for having to bring in the names of Mr. and Mrs. Edwin Barley. The fear of doing that; of alluding to the dreadful events of the past, clung to me still as a nightmare. Mr. Chandos, who did not fail to detect the reluctance, concluded there must be some reason for it, not expedient to tell; he quitted the subject at once, with the innate delicacy of a refined man, and did not again, then or later, make allusion to my family.
"Well, now for the fairy-tales. Begin. If you don't tell me something worth hearing, I shall fall asleep."
I laughed; and related to him one or two short anecdotes of my school life, and then remembered the supper-scene at Miss Fenton's, and the setting on fire of Georgina Digges. He had grown interested in that, and we were both talking very fast, when the clock struck ten. I got up and put away the low chair.
"Good-night, sir."
"Good-night—miss!"
It made me laugh. He took my hand, kept it for a minute in his, and said he wished me pleasant dreams.
"I shall dream of a woman in a grey cloak. But, Mr. Chandos! in one sense, the accident is a good thing for you."
"You must explain how. I don't see it."