"She came straight to Seymour Street from here. She saw him alone first; then he called me in. That luxury lasted about an hour."
Adela said, "Poor, poor, father!" to this; on which her brother remained silent. Then, after he had remarked that it had been the scene he had lived in terror of all through his cramming, and she had stammered her pity and admiration at such a mixture of anxieties and such a triumph of talent, she demanded: "Have you told him?"
"Told him what?"
"What you said you would—what I did."
Godfrey turned away as if at present he had very little interest in that inferior tribulation. "I was angry with you, but I cooled off. I held my tongue."
Adela clasped her hands. "You thought of mamma!"
"Oh, don't speak of mamma," said the young man tenderly.
It was indeed not a happy moment; and she murmured: "No; if you had thought of her"———
This made Godfrey turn back at her, with a little flare in his eyes. "Oh, then it didn't prevent. I thought that woman was good. I believed in her."
"Is she very bad?" his sister inquired.
"I shall never mention her to you again," Godfrey answered, with dignity.
"You may believe that I won't speak of her. So father doesn't know?" she added.
"Doesn't know what?"
"That I said that to Mrs. Churchley."
"I don't think so, but you must find out for yourself."
"I shall find out," said Adela, "But what had Mrs. Churchley to do with it?"
"With my misery? I told her. I had to tell some one."