“Hush!” she exclaimed in a sort of fright. “You must not talk of this, Johnny; you don’t know the sad mischief you might do. Oh, if I can only keep it from you all! Here comes Joseph,” she added in a whisper; and gathering up her work, went out of the room.
“Did I not make a sign to you to come after me?” began Tod, in one of his tempers.
“But I had to go over to the Coneys’. I’ve only just got back again.”
He looked into the room and saw that it was empty. “Where’s madam gone? To the Ravine after her friend?”
“She was here sewing not a minute ago.”
“Johnny, she told a lie. Did you notice the sound of her voice when she said the fellow was no relative of hers?”
“Not particularly.”
“I did, then. At the moment the denial took me by surprise; but I remembered the tone later. It had an untrue ring in it. Madam told a lie, Johnny, as sure as that we are here. I’d lay my life he is a relative of hers, or a connection in some way. I don’t think now it is money he wants; if it were only that, she’d get it, and send him packing. It’s worse than that: disgrace, perhaps.”
“What sort of disgrace can it be?”
“I don’t know. But if something of the sort is not looming, never trust me again. And here am I, with my hands tied, forbidden to unravel it. Johnny, I feel just like a wild beast barred up in a cage.”