“I suspected him of casting the child helpless on the world!” Mrs. Farnaby interposed, with a sudden burst of fury. “Don’t ask me any more about it, or I shall break out and shock you!” She clenched her fists as she said the words. “It’s well for that man,” she muttered between her teeth, “that I have never got beyond suspecting, and never found out the truth! Why did you turn my mind that way? You shouldn’t have done it. Help me back again to what we were saying a minute ago. You made some objection; you said—?”
“I said,” Amelius reminded her, “that, even if I did meet with the missing girl, I couldn’t possibly know it. And I must say more than that—I don’t see how you yourself could be sure of recognizing her, if she stood before you at this moment.”
He spoke very gently, fearing to irritate her. She showed no sign of irritation—she looked at him, and listened to him, attentively.
“Are you setting a trap for me?” she asked. “No!” she cried, before Amelius could answer, “I am not mean enough to distrust you—I forgot myself. You have innocently said something that rankles in my mind. I can’t leave it where you have left it; I don’t like to be told that I shouldn’t recognize her. Give me time to think. I must clear this up.”
She consulted her own thoughts, keeping her eyes fixed on Amelius.
“I am going to speak plainly,” she announced, with a sudden appearance of resolution. “Listen to this. When I banged to the door of that big cupboard of mine, it was because I didn’t want you to see something on the shelves. Did you see anything in spite of me?”
The question was not an easy one to answer. Amelius hesitated. Mrs. Farnaby insisted on a reply.
“Did you see anything?” she reiterated
Amelius owned that he had seen something.
She turned away from him, and looked into the fire. Her firm full tones sank so low, when she spoke next, that he could barely hear them.