"No," she said gently but troubled,—"you mustn't know, and there is no need you should. There is no need," she repeated eagerly.
"There is another true little witness I can call upon—but I would rather have your account."
"How did you know?—how did you know anything about it?" said Faith, facing round upon him in her turn.
"Gentlemen of what Miss Danforth is pleased to call 'my profession' must know things occasionally," said Mr. Linden.
"What do you think you know, Mr. Linden?" she said a little timidly.
His answer was gentle though resolute.
"I don't think I know anything. What I know, I know——what I do not,
I will."
Faith's head half drooped for an instant, and the flush which had faded came back painfully. Then she looked at him again, and though the flush was there she spoke as usual.
"You won't try, Mr. Linden—because I am going to ask you not. It is nothing you need take up—it was nothing but—what perhaps I was foolish to mind. I don't mind it now—much—"
But there was a grave falling off in the tone of that much. She felt it herself, for she rallied and said with her own quiet frank smile,