“Did you say you were quite ignorant of what your father was thinking of when he spoke to you about me?”
“Quite ignorant.”
“Is your brother likely to know more about it than you do?”
“Certainly not.”
She paused, absorbed once more in her own thoughts. Startled, on the memorable day when they had first met, by Geoffrey’s family name, she had put the question to him whether there had not been some acquaintance between their parents in the past time. Deceiving her in all else, he had not deceived in this. He had spoken in good faith, when he had declared that he had never heard her father or her mother mentioned at home.
The curiosity of Julius was aroused. He attempted to lead her on into saying more.
“You appear to know what my father was thinking of when he spoke to me,” he resumed. “May I ask—”
She interrupted him with a gesture of entreaty.
“Pray don’t ask! It’s past and over—it can have no interest for you—it has nothing to do with my errand here. I must return,” she went on, hurriedly, “to my object in trespassing on your kindness. Have you heard me mentioned, Mr. Delamayn, by another member of your family besides your father?”
Julius had not anticipated that sh e would approach, of her own accord, the painful subject on which he had himself forborne to touch. He was a little disappointed. He had expected more delicacy of feeling from her than she had shown.