"Why not?"
"Don't ask me!"
She felt for the table, with her ivory cane, and put the vase down on it—very unwillingly.
"Good morning, Mr. Dubourg," she said.
He opened the door of the room for her in silence. Waiting close against the side of the house, I saw them appear under the porch, and cross the little walled enclosure in front. As she stepped out on the open turf beyond, she turned, and spoke to him again.
"If you won't tell me your secret," she said, "will you tell it to some one else? Will you tell it to a friend of mine?"
"To what friend?" he asked.
"To the lady whom you met with me last night."
He hesitated. "I am afraid I offended the lady," he said.
"So much the more reason for your explaining yourself," she rejoined. "If you will only satisfy her, I might ask you to come and see us—I might even take the vase." With that strong hint, she actually gave him her hand at parting. Her perfect self-possession, her easy familiarity with this stranger—so bold, and yet so innocent—petrified me. "I shall send my friend to you this morning," she said imperiously, striking her cane on the turf. "I insist on your telling her the whole truth."