“I understand,” said Miss Hernshaw.
“I took the risk of your writing to St. John; but then I realized that if he answered and told you what I ought to have told you myself, it would make it worse, and I came back.”
“I don’t know whether it would have made it worse; but you have come too late,” said Miss Hernshaw. “I’ve just written to Mr. St. John.”
They were both silent for what Hewson thought a long time. At the end of it, he asked, “Did you--you must excuse me--refer to me at all?”
“No, certainly not. Why should I?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know that it would have mattered.” He was silent again, with bowed head; when he looked up he saw tears in the girl’s eyes.
“I suppose you know where this leaves me?” she said gently.
“I can’t pretend that I don’t,” answered Hewson. “What can I do?”
“You can sell me the place for what it cost you.”
“Oh, no, I can’t do that,” said Hewson.