But Geneviève was not satisfied. Light was beginning to dawn upon her. She stood still, her hands clasped together, the colour coming and going in her face.
“What then was it you thought I feared?” she exclaimed vehemently. “I must know. Mr. Guildford, you shall then tell. You are not kind.”
She seemed on the point of tears, and Mr. Guildford was not fond of tears. Still he was sorry for her, and provoked with himself.
“I wish you would believe me, Miss Casalis,” he said earnestly, “that I saw nothing in your conduct that I even fancied unbecoming—nothing that I would have given a second thought to.”
“But what thought you then when you saw that I feared?” she persisted, beginning to lose command both of her temper and her English. “Was it that you have seen me walk with Mr. Fawcett? I thought not that one was so little amiable, so little kind in England! What then was there of wrong in what I have done? I meet the nephew of my aunt, he speaks to me, I answer him—voilà tout! Would you that I should run away—would you—?”
But by this time the tears have come in earnest—the rest of the sentence is lost in sobs.
“My dear Miss Casalis,” exclaimed Mr. Guildford in desperation, “I really entreat you to be reasonable. Have I not told you half-a-dozen times that your behaviour so far as I know was irreproachable? Nor, whatever I had thought of it, would I have presumed to express an opinion but for this unfortunate misunderstanding, brought about—you must do me the justice to allow—by yourself. You appealed to me, silently it is true, but still you did appeal to me, to refrain from drawing attention to what I had seen, and to-day you honoured me with an explanation of the whole. I understand it all now, and for the third time I beg your pardon.”
“Then you do not think I—I was to blame for—for speaking to Mr. Fawcett?” said Geneviève, calming down, but still sobbing.
“Of course not,” said Mr. Guildford, kindly. “I am not much accustomed to young ladies, as I dare say you have found out before now, but if you will forgive plain speaking, what I would think wrong would be your meeting any gentleman and going walks with him without Mrs. Methvyn’s knowledge or approval.”
“But Mr. Fawcett is the relation of my aunt,” said Geneviève, not feeling perfectly comfortable. “I see not that I may not walk with him when I meet him.”