"But, aunty," said Eleanor, a scarlet flood refilling the cheeks which had partially faded,—"I had never the least reason to think so again."
"That is Mr. Rhys's affair. But you may believe it now, for he told me; and I give it to you on his own testimony."
It was curious to Mrs. Caxton to see Eleanor's face. She did not hide it; she turned it a little away from her aunt's fill view and sat very still, while the intense flush passed away and left only a nameless rosy glow, that almost reminded Mrs. Caxton of the perfume as well as of the colour of the flower it was likened to. There was a certain unfolding sweetness in Eleanor's face, that was most like the opening of a rosebud just getting into full blossom; but the lips, unbent into happy lines, were a little shame-faced, and would not open to speak a word or ask another question. So they both sat still; the younger and elder lady.
"Do you want me to tell you any more, Eleanor?"
"Why do you tell me this at all now, aunt Caxton?" Eleanor said very slowly and without stirring.
"Mr. Rhys desired I should."
"Why, aunt Caxton?"
"Why do gentlemen generally desire such things to be made known to young ladies?"
"But ma'am"—said Eleanor, the crimson starting again.
"Well, my dear?"