"Then how shall I speak, Ma’am? Answer me that. Me that’s worshipped every inch of ground that Susan’s trod on for years and years! Me that would go through fire and water and hell----" "Gibson, listen. You think you’ve told me what I don’t know. What if I knew it already?" He faced me, startled. "I say, what if I knew it already? I’ve never seen this man; but what if I can give you my word that Susan has only written to him once in her life? What if her only letter was to say that she does not love this man, and that she does not know she ever can or will, and that, if she cannot, all the money in the world won’t bribe her into marrying him? What if she has told him that she is glad she is going to France? What if she has forbidden him to try and see her till she comes back to England? What if she will see you again, Gibson, before she sees him? Most important of all, what if I tell you that I have made up my mind to look after Susan in this affair as if she were my own younger sister? What if I promise you that she shall not come to harm?" Gibson drank in my words with greedy ears and devoured me with searching eyes. "God bless you, Miss Gertrude, God bless you!" he faltered; "and God grant it may be true!" "So you think I would tell you lies, Gibson?" "No, Ma’am, no. You’re dealing with me fair. But how long will you be able to manage Susan if her head gets any more turned? And oh, Miss Gertrude ... I ask pardon--but this isn’t no job for a young lady like you, as pure as an angel, that doesn’t know this wicked world. Ma’am, if he’s a scoundrel, he’ll deceive Susan and he’ll deceive you, Ma’am, as easy as looking at you! Oh, Ma’am, you don’t understand! I can put up with losing Susan, though it’ll kill me. I can put up with her being took away honest. But----" He brought his lips to my ear and finished his sentence: "If there’s any devil’s work, it’ll be murder for him and hanging for me. Miss Gertrude, may I come to France?" I drew a step away. "No, Gibson," I answered, assuming a calmness and a mastery which I did not feel. "You can’t come to France. There is no need. I am sorry for you--deeply sorry--and I respect you for some of the things you have said. But you are excited. You have been brooding. You’ve got morbid, exaggerated fears." He came towards me again. "Gibson, wait till I’ve finished. You stopped me saying something that ought to satisfy you. It is this. At Sainte Véronique, Susan will be under my eye all the time. If this man follows her, I shall know. And I pledge you my word that, if he comes, I will write to you--no, I will telegraph--and then you can do whatever you please." "You pledge me your word, Ma’am?" "I said so."