"You forget," she said, "that I don't know the younger sister. It is easy to accept anything one is told about a perfect stranger, though I did feel surprised. She is so young." "Surprised perhaps, but nothing more?" he persisted. "It is just what you say--you know nothing of the one sister, but you do know something of the other; something which made it difficult for you to credit what you thought I told you of _her_. It is that something I want you to tell me. You don't know what a service you may be doing me." "But I can't tell you," said Roma, becoming more and more uncomfortable. "And I don't think I would if I could. It makes me feel like a spy." Just then her eye caught the last words of the song she had been singing, lying on the piano beside her! But oh, _my_ love, if false thou prove! Mr Thurston's glance followed hers. He read the line too. "You don't understand me," he said, not resenting her hasty accusation. "It is nothing of that kind. One can't talk of `false,' when there has been no sort of promise claimed or given, directly or indirectly. I shall have no one but myself to thank for it, if it is all over. Only I think I should be much better--less likely to make a fool of myself, in short," with a smile, "if I were not quite unprepared. That is why I want you to tell me what was in your mind. I know it is a very odd thing to ask, but our whole conversation has been odd. Just think; what have I not told you or allowed you to infer, and two hours ago I had never heard your name?" While he was speaking, Roma had been collecting her wits. "Mr Thurston," she said gravely, "I cannot tell you anything. There are passing impressions and fancies which take a false substance and form from merely putting them into words. Truly, I have nothing it would be fair--to yourself, I mean--to tell you her;" decision was strengthened by the recollection of Gertrude's ridicule of her "absurd fancifulness" this very morning. "I can only say," with a smile, "that I don't agree with my song. There is no need for `taking on trust.' Go and see for yourself. If you are disappointed, I pity you with all my heart, but if you are deceived in any way it will be your own fault, not _hers_. She is candour itself. Still, don't be too easily discouraged. I wish you well." "Thank you," he said, for he saw she was thoroughly determined to say no more, and they both moved away to other parts of the room. Nothing more passed between them except a word or two when they were saying good-night. "We may meet again some day, Miss Eyrecourt--at Wareborough. Perhaps," said Mr Thurston. "Perhaps," said Roma, "but `some day' is a wide word."