“Well,” I went on, “it seems that you hesitate to tell me the truth, because you fear that I might divulge your secret. Is that so?”
“I believed that I might trust you to attend my cousin, and preserve silence regarding her illness and her presence in London,” was the haughty reply. “But it seems that you are endeavouring to ascertain facts which are purely family affairs.”
“The doctor is always the confidant of the family,” I answered.
“But the other—the doctor who is coming?”
“He is an old friend and will promise to keep your secret,” I said. “Come, tell me.”
She stood hesitating, erect, statuesque, her eyes fixed immovably upon me.
“I know you are in trouble,” I added in a tone of sympathy. “I am ready to assist you, if you are open and straight forward with me. I have already given you my pledge of secrecy. Now tell me what has occurred.”
She wavered in her resolution to tell me nothing. My sympathetic tones decided her, and she said in a low, hoarse voice—
“It is a mystery.”
“In what way?”