"You don't seem to understand that the house at Fiddler's Green belonged to Mr. Byfield," broke in the cold voice of Mrs. Ewart-Crane.
"Borrowed by me under a special arrangement," persisted Daniel Meggison. "Why don't we all go to breakfast?"
"Lent to your father by Mr. Byfield, because for some absurd reason he thought it might be well for you, who had lived all your life in a poverty-stricken district of London, to have a taste of the country," said Enid. "Will the girl never understand?"
"Bear it bravely; keep a stiff upper lip before 'em all!" urged Simon Quarle, in a growling undertone. "We'll get you out of this muddle with clean hands yet."
"Mr. Byfield—won't you tell me what it all means?" asked Bessie.
"I never meant that you should know the truth," said Gilbert. "I played a game of make-believe, just as you had done; your father's fortune was make-believe too. God knows you've been welcome to anything I've been able to do for you; we'd have been happy enough but for all the meddlers and muddiers who have been about us. Now you know the truth."
"There was never any fortune—never any money, except what you gave us?" she said slowly, looking at Byfield. "All the rest is lies—and pretence——"
"Only make-believe, Bessie," said Gilbert gently.
"There's no more make-believe for me!" she exclaimed, with a sudden new fierceness. "I'm not a child any more." Then suddenly breaking down, she looked at them appealingly, with eyes swimming with tears. "Won't you turn your faces from me?" she pleaded. "Don't you see that I am shamed and mean and horrible? For pity's sake turn your faces away from me!"
She turned her own then, and hid it on the friendly breast of Simon Quarle.