‘You did not know it. But it is so. What you told me last night, in answer to my question,’—she hastened to add, as he looked up quickly—‘you could not help it, it was not your fault, but it distressed me dreadfully. I thought about it all night. I felt that I was groping in the dark, with no one and nothing to guide me. There is no one here from whom I can ask a question—not one. I want to know if you will answer me one or two.’ ‘It will depend upon what they are,’ he replied in the same curt, dry voice. ‘Yes, of course. First of all—ah, I cannot go on in this way, cataloguing things,’ exclaimed Eleanor, passionately. ‘It is too horrible. I don’t believe I have the right to ask one of these questions; and yet I feel as if so much depended on my knowing the answers to them!’ She had sat up, and leaned forward, looking with intense earnestness, pleading earnestness at him. Michael, imperceptibly to her, caught his breath. The temptation was strong to bid her ask what she would, since he knew her motives must be pure. As a matter of fact, he looked at her steadily, gravely, and attentively, awaiting what more she had to say. He said no words to help or lead her on. ‘I will tell you what I want to know,’ she said. ‘Does Miss Wynter know about Otho—about what he does with his money—his gambling? Does he want to marry her? and would it be good for him if he did marry her?’ Having asked her questions, Eleanor sat, with her face aflame, and looked at him, every trace of her first self-possession having vanished. As he did not immediately answer, she went on hurriedly— ‘I asked Miss Wynter if she knew about Otho’s character and habits. I asked her partly in joke and to tease her, because I saw she hated me to take any interest in him; but she told me that if she knew everything about him to the most minute particular, she would not think of sharing her knowledge with me.’ Then, seeing Michael’s lips grow tight and his eyebrows draw together, she added, ‘That is why I know it is useless to ask her.’ ‘It would be absurd to refuse to answer that question,’ said Michael, almost contemptuously. ‘Every one in Bradstane knows that Miss Wynter and your brother are friends—intimate friends, and that she knows more about him than any one else, except——’ He paused, with a look of deep distaste on his face. ‘I know, I know,’ said Eleanor, quickly. ‘Therefore that is no secret. As for your other questions—I must decline to make any kind of an answer to them. I cannot imagine any circumstances under which I would discuss those points.’ ‘It is perfectly natural that you should feel so,’ said Eleanor, every spark of spirit gone from her voice and attitude, as she sat, leaning rather droopingly forward, despondency on her face, and her fingers loosely twined together. She looked towards the ground after that remark, and was silent, giving a deep sigh after a while.