"Does he know that you are speaking to me about him?"
"No, of course not. The fact is—"
"Then I think, Mr. Bronson," interrupted Edith, gently, but with decision, "that perhaps it would be better for us not to discuss him."
"But you quite misunderstand me, Miss Franklin. I am speaking only for his own good. I can't bear to see a fellow going straight to the bad, as I really am very much afraid he is, and not lift a finger to help him. I thought if I told you that perhaps you might speak to his sister—"
Edith interrupted him again, with heightened color. "I can do nothing of the sort. Nothing would induce me to speak to Mrs. Franklin on the subject. I—I couldn't possibly."
Bronson looked at her compassionately.
"Ah, it is as I thought! You and Mrs. Franklin are not congenial. I am so sorry."
Edith said nothing. She knew that he should not make such a remark to her, a perfect stranger. She felt that he did not ring true. And yet she could not bring herself to administer the reproof that Cynthia would have given under like circumstances.
"I am afraid I have offended you," said Bronson, presently; "do forgive me! And if you like I will say no more about the bad scrape Gordon is in. I thought perhaps I could prevent a letter coming from the faculty, but I see it's of no use. I'm awfully sorry for the fellow. You don't really think you could do anything to influence his sister?"
At last Edith found her voice.