Lucy hesitated. 'Why will you talk about it?' she said despairingly.
'I have a right to know.'
His urgent imperious look left her no choice. She felt his will, and yielded. In very simple words, faltering yet restrained, she told the whole story. Manisty followed every word with breathless attention.
'My God!' he said, when she paused, 'my God!' And he hid his eyes with his hand a moment. Then—
'You knew she had a weapon?' he said.
'I supposed so,' she said quietly. 'All the time she was in my room, she kept her poor hand closed on something.'
'Her poor hand!'—the little phrase seemed to Manisty extraordinarily touching. There was a moment's pause—then he broke out:
'Upon my word, this has been a fine ending to the whole business. Miss Foster, when you came out to stay with us, you imagined, I suppose, that you were coming to stay with friends? You didn't know much of us; but after the kindness my aunt and I had experienced from your friends and kinsfolk in Boston—to put it in the crudest way—you might have expected at least that we should welcome you warmly—do all we could for you—take you everywhere—show you everything?'
Lucy coloured—then laughed.
'I don't know in the least what you mean, Mr. Manisty! I knew you would be kind to me; and of course—of course—you have been!'