“Is this person,” he asked, “connected in any way with the painful remembrances of your early life?”
“Yes; with the painful remembrance of the time when I was married,” said Mrs. Armadale. “She was associated, as a mere child, with a circumstance which I must think of with shame and sorrow to my dying day.”
Mr. Brock noticed the altered tone in which his old friend spoke, and the unwillingness with which she gave her answer.
“Can you tell me more about her without referring to yourself?” he went on. “I am sure I can protect you, if you will only help me a little. Her name, for instance—you can tell me her name?”
Mrs. Armadale shook her head, “The name I knew her by,” she said, “would be of no use to you. She has been married since then; she told me so herself.”
“And without telling you her married name?”
“She refused to tell it.”
“Do you know anything of her friends?”
“Only of her friends when she was a child. They called themselves her uncle and aunt. They were low people, and they deserted her at the school on my father’s estate. We never heard any more of them.”
“Did she remain under your father’s care?”