'Hush, pray hush!' I murmured, seeing all her meaning now. 'Do you think any one who loved Robert Wentworth would care about all that!'
'Then it is that he isn't loved? God help him!' The cold, hard, set look came into her face again—though she would seem cold and hard now to me never again—and she folded her cloak about her.
'Will you tell me how Mr Wentworth is?' I could not help asking.
'Oh, he's well enough; nobody need think he's going to die of a broken heart. And you must please to remember that he knows nothing about my coming here, ma'am. And perhaps it isn't too much to ask you not to mention what a foolish old woman has been talking about?'
'I should be as much grieved as you could possibly be for him to know anything about it, Hester,' I replied in all sincerity.
'Then I wish you good-night, Miss.'
'Will not you shake hands with me?'
'I'm never much for shaking hands, Miss, thank you'—stiffly, both hands folded in her cloak.
'Not for your master's sake? Mr Wentworth is my friend, and I think he would be sorry'——
'He can't be sorry about what he doesn't know.'