“Do you know what a strange creature I am?” she broke out. “Shall I make you angry with me? or shall I make you laugh at me? What I have shrunk from confessing to Selina—what I dare not confess to my father—I must, and will, confess to You.”
There was a look of horror in her face that alarmed me. I drew her to me so that she could rest her head on my shoulder. My own agitation threatened to get the better of me. For the first time since I had seen this sweet girl, I found myself thinking of the blood that ran in her veins, and of the nature of the mother who had borne her.
“Did you notice how I behaved upstairs?” she said. “I mean when we left my father, and came out on the landing.”
It was easily recollected; I begged her to go on.
“Before I went downstairs,” she proceeded, “you saw me look and listen. Did you think I was afraid of meeting some person? and did you guess who it was I wanted to avoid?”
“I guessed that—and I understood you.”
“No! You are not wicked enough to understand me. Will you do me a favor? I want you to look at me.”
It was said seriously. She lifted her head for a moment, so that I could examine her face.
“Do you see anything,” she asked, “which makes you fear that I am not in my right mind?”
“Good God! how can you ask such a horrible question?”