"Were not all these persons you named acquainted with Mr. Anderson in his public capacity? His success in the strike of last year brought him a great notoriety. But his private history--his family and antecedents--have you gathered anything at all about them?"
Something that he could not decipher flashed through Elizabeth's expression. It was a strange and thrilling sense that what she had gathered she would not reveal for--a kingdom!
"Monsieur Mariette told me all that anyone need want to know!" she cried, breathing quick. "Ask him what he thinks--what he feels! But if you ask me, I think Mr. Anderson carries his history in his face."
Delaine pondered a moment, while Elizabeth waited, challenging, expectant, her brown eyes all vivacity.
"Well--some facts have come to my knowledge," he said, at last, "which have made me ask you these questions. My only object--you must, you will admit that!--is to save you possible pain--a possible shock."
"Mr. Arthur!" the voice was peremptory--"If you have learned anything about Mr. Anderson's private history--by chance--without his knowledge--that perhaps he would rather we did not know--I beg you will not tell me--indeed--please--I forbid you to tell me. We owe him much kindness these last few weeks. I cannot gossip about him behind his back."
All her fine slenderness of form, her small delicacy of feature, seemed to him tense and vibrating, like some precise and perfect instrument strained to express a human feeling or intention. But what feeling? While he divined it, was she herself unconscious of it? His bitterness grew.
"Dear Lady Merton--can you not trust an old friend?"
She did not soften.
"I do trust him. But"--her smile flashed--"even new acquaintances have their rights."