'Of course I know that I can trust you, Becky,' I said, pressing the spring and disclosing Philip's portrait.
'My! what a nice-looking young gentleman! Who is he?' she asked herself. 'I haven't never seen him, have I? Not a young brother?'
'No.'
Then, hesitatingly: 'The young man you once walked out with, Miss?'
I nodded.
'And—he's dead, isn't he, dear Miss Haddon?'
Involuntarily I uttered a little cry of pain. Why did every one suppose him to be dead? 'No, not dead, Becky.'
'Took to walking out with somebody else, and give you up?'
'No; I have not been given up;' my foolish heart sinking. 'Cannot you think of something else, Becky?'—a little pleadingly.
'Did he do something wrong, Miss, and that made you give him up? Though he don't look like that neither;' musingly.