It was her voice again that first broke the
silence between us.
"I want to ask you something," she said suddenly. "Do you know
many people in London?"
"Yes, a great many."
"Many men of rank and title?" There was an unmistakable tone of
suspicion in the strange question. I hesitated about answering
it.
"Some," I said, after a moment's silence.
"Many"--she came to a full stop, and looked me searchingly in the
face--"many men of the rank of Baronet?"
Too much astonished to reply, I questioned her in my turn.
"Why do you ask?"
"Because I hope, for my own sake, there is one Baronet that you
don't know."
"Will you tell me his name?"
"I can't--I daren't--I forget myself when I mention it." She spoke
loudly and almost fiercely, raised her clenched hand in the air,
and shook it passionately; then, on a sudden, controlled herself
again, and added, in tones lowered to a whisper "Tell me which of
them YOU know."
I could hardly refuse to humour her in such a trifle, and I
mentioned three names. Two, the names of fathers of families
whose daughters I taught; one, the name of a bachelor who had once
taken me a cruise in his yacht, to make sketches for him.
"Ah! you DON'T know him," she said, with a sigh of relief.
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