She had put it down on the tray when Tom walked up to her, holding out his hand, his countenance all smiles, his hazel eyes dancing.
"How are you, Leah, after all these years? Shake hands for auld lang syne. Do you sing the song still?"
Leah gave one startled glance and then threw her white apron up to her face with a sob.
"Come, come," said Tom kindly. "I didn't want to startle you, Leah."
"I didn't think you would know me, sir," she said, lifting her woebegone face. "Mr. Charles here did not."
"Not know you! I should know you sooner than my best sweetheart," cried Tom gaily.
"Leah," I interposed, gravely turning to her, "how is it that you did not let me know who you were? Why have you kept it from me?"
She stood with her back against Mr. Brightman's desk, hot tears raining down her worn cheeks.
"I couldn't tell you, Master Charles. I'm sorry you know now. It's like a stab to me."
"But why could you not tell me?"