"Could you not, possibly, have written to me a letter that was not an answer?"
"Yes, and I would; O how I wanted to write, many a time!—but I did not know where to send it. I had not your address."
"I left it with your aunt for you; or rather, I believe I left it in a note for you, when I went away."
"She never let me know as much," said Rotha a little bitterly.
"You might have guessed she had my address. Did you ever ask her? You know, I promised to give it to you?"
"There was no use in my asking her any such thing,"' said Rotha. "She never let me hear a word from you or about you. I only learned by chance, as it were, that you had gone back to England."
"And so you thought I had forgotten you?"
"What could I think? I did not want to think that," said Rotha, feeling somewhat put in the wrong.
"I did not want you to think that. The least you can do to a friend, if you have got him, is to trust him."
"But then, I thought—they said—I thought, maybe, after you had put me in aunt Serena's care, you had done—or thought you had done—the best you could for me."