In her turn the housekeeper reddened a little, but she kept her self-control.
“My dear young lady,” she began, with a slight effort. “You must not think me officious for what I cannot help reminding you of—that all the disagreeables which you have to bear, or may have to bear as to this affair, are of your own causing, and,” with a very slight tremble in her voice, “even from what you know of me, I think you might trust me not to talk over any girl—whatever her position—in any way that could possibly be objected to—least of all with a young gentleman, even if he were the kindest and best in the world.”
“Which indeed,” she added to herself almost inaudibly, “Master Michael is.”
Her words brought to Philippa a quick rush of regret for her hasty words, as she recalled the affectionate relations which existed between her old friend and the younger Gresham.
“Please forgive me,” she said, penitently. “You have been very, very good to me, Mrs Shepton, and you are very good to me now, in listening and sympathising, instead of at once saying you must tell it all to Mrs Headfort, for fear of any possible blame to yourself hereafter, as many selfish people would have done. Please forgive me, and oh, do tell me what I had better do.”
She clasped her hands in entreaty, and the charm of her appeal went home to the housekeeper’s heart.
“My dear young lady,” she began again, then hesitated. “I do wish to advise you for the best, but it is very difficult. I have never heard of such a thing. I don’t think I have ever even read of anything like it in a story-book,” and for the first time the humorous side of the situation struck her. But the faint smile which this drew forth soon faded. “I wish I were quite sure of what is right to do. I cannot bear concealing anything that happens in this house from my masters, and yet—it is not as if your parents did not know of it, and they, as I understand, have thought it forced upon them to keep the secret.”
For, in spite of the deception Philippa had been practising, her innate truthfulness had impressed itself upon Mrs Shepton. Not for one moment did she doubt the absolute accuracy of every word in the girl’s narration. “I should like,” she continued, “as far as I may say so without presumption, to say just what your own mamma would say if she were here and knew what things have come to.”
