"How good!—" she began, broke off and said, shuddering: "But—Aunt Lynette! How could I bear it, if she were ever to know——"
Saxham said harshly:
"She shall not know! Who do you dream will tell her? Not I! So set your mind at rest, my girl. You are a girl—though you talk like a woman of thirty!"
She said with a miserable catch in her throat:
"Nineteen is rather young, isn't it? Perhaps things would have been different if only Dada had lived!"
The utterance was as inapposite as it was sentimental. If David had still been in existence his daughter would have had no less cause for regret. But Saxham, inwardly quivering and wrung with pity, could only acquiesce:
"Perhaps things would! What you have got to do now is—Forget! Do you hear me? I order you, and I will be obeyed! And I will have you leave this titled lady who employs you, and who is all kindness and no discretion. Resign your post to-morrow! You need not return to your mother. My house is your home!" He went on in his rare tone of tenderness, "You need no telling that I care for you as a daughter. Come to me, and to Lynette who loves you dearly. She will want comfort—now that—" His voice broke and his mouth twisted. He fought with his anguish, in silence, turning his grim white face away.
"Who will tell Aunt Lynette? Oh! who will tell her?" he heard Patrine whisper. He commanded himself to answer:
"For the present, I have telephoned her that we may be detained here until late. Suppose you twist up your hair now, and put your hat on. Sherbrand!"
A sweet, manly voice answered out of the dimness of the Flying Ground: "Here, Doctor! You called me?"