I hesitated. Mayberry's principal thoroughfare was far from crowded, but it was scarcely the place for an interview like this. “She had a reason for leaving,” I answered, slowly. “I will tell you later, perhaps, what it was. Just now I cannot.” “You cannot!” he repeated. He was evidently struggling with his impatience and growing suspicious. “You cannot! But I think I have a right to know.” “I appreciate your feelings, but I cannot tell you now.” “Why not?” “Because--Well, because I don't think it would be fair to her. She would not wish me to tell you.” “She would not wish it? Was it because of me she left?” “No; not in the least.” “Was it--was it because of someone else? By Jove! it wasn't because of that Heathcroft cad? Don't tell me that! My God! she--she didn't--” I interrupted. His suspicion angered me. I should have understood his feelings, should have realized that he had been and was disappointed and agitated and that my answers to his questions must have aroused all sorts of fears and forebodings in his mind. I should have pitied him, but just then I had little pity for others. “She did nothing but what she considered right,” I said sharply. “Her leaving had nothing to do with Heathcroft or with you. I doubt if she thought of either of you at all.” It was a brutal speech, and he took it like a man. I saw him turn pale and bite his lips, but when he next spoke it was in a calmer tone. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I was a silly ass even to think such a thing. But--but you see, Knowles, I--I--this means so much to me. I'm sorry, though. I ask her pardon and yours.” I was sorry, too. “Of course I didn't mean that, exactly,” I said. “Her feelings toward you are of the kindest, I have no doubt, but her reason for leaving was a purely personal one. You were not concerned in it.” He reflected. He was far from satisfied, naturally, and his next speech showed it. “It is extraordinary, all this,” he said. “You are quite sure you don't know when she is coming back?” “Quite.” “Would you mind giving me her London address?” “I don't know it.” “You don't KNOW it! Oh, I say! that's damned nonsense! You don't know when she is coming back and you don't know her address! Do you mean you don't know where she has gone?” “Yes.” “What--? Are you trying to tell me she is not coming back at all?” “I am afraid not.” He was very pale. He seized my arm. “What is all this?” he demanded, fiercely. “What has happened? Tell me; I want to know. Where is she? Why did she go? Tell me!” “I can tell you nothing,” I said, as calmly as I could. “She left us very suddenly and she is not coming back. Her reason for leaving I can't tell you, now. I don't know where she is and I have no right to try and find out. She has asked that no one follow her or interfere with her in any way. I respect her wish and I advise you, if you wish to remain her friend, to do the same, for the present, at least. That is all I can tell you.” He shook my arm savagely.