“Oh, that’s one of the dark chapters of my past.”
“You never told me about it.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Please!” He said it with a surprising earnestness. He had a sudden hope that her confession might be an absolving explanation.
She could not fathom this eagerness, but she felt a desire to release that old secret. She began, recklessly:
“Well, I told you how I ran away from home and went on the stage, and Sir Joseph Webling––”
“You told me that much, but not what happened before you met him.”
“No, I didn’t tell you that, and I’m not going to now, but––well, Sir Joseph was like a father to me; I never had one of my own––to know and remember. Sir Joseph was German born, and perhaps the ruthlessness was contagious, for he––well, I can’t tell you.”
“Please!”