"That is it, Robert. It mustn't become known. I depend upon you, as the head of the family, to prevent that. Blame me as severely as you will, but don't expose me, don't subject me to criticism and scorn! Oh, Robert, I beg you to protect me!" "I'll protect you of course," he replied, "but you have made it difficult and exceedingly embarrassing for me to do so. I have my own conscience to reckon with. You have made me do things, in ignorance of the facts--I may as well be frank and say you have deliberately deceived me into the doing of wrongs for which I know not how to atone or even apologize. If you were not my sister, if you were not under my protection, if I could be indifferent to your feelings--my course would be simple and easy. A frank, manly statement of the facts would exonerate me. As it is--" "As it is, Robert, you cannot subject your sister to humiliation. You _must_ protect me from shame. You must take pains that what has happened shall never be known outside this house!" It was at this stage of the conversation that Margaret entered. "Aunt Betsy," confident that she had secured herself, said: "I will leave you to talk with your father, Margaret, if you desire." "No," the young woman answered; "I prefer that you should remain. I, at least, have nothing to conceal, and I do not seek, as you do, to get my father's ear in private. Besides, I have some things to say to you, and I prefer to say them in my father's presence. I am mistress of The Oaks. Hitherto, out of a respect which you have not justified, I have permitted you to exercise certain functions that belong to me. I shall do so no longer. I have given directions that hereafter I will make up the outgoing mail bag and open the incoming one." "But, my dear child--" "I am not a child, Aunt Betsy. You have made some grievous mistakes in forgetfulness of that fact. It shall not be forgotten again while I remain mistress of this plantation. What was it you were going to say, Aunt Betsy? I beg pardon for interrupting, but it seemed necessary." "I was going to ask what the servants will think." "I do not know what they will think, Aunt Betsy." "On that point I must appeal to your father," "Aunt Betsy" replied. "On that point it is _very dangerous for you to appeal_," answered the younger woman, still preserving an extraordinary calm that was at once astonishing and alarming to her aunt, but speaking with a degree of emphasis that suggested something behind the words. "What do you mean? Explain yourself," said "Aunt Betsy," in that authoritative tone which she had all her life employed in addressing her niece. "I will explain if you wish," Margaret answered; "but I'd rather spare you the explanation." "I insist upon knowing what you mean," the elder woman unwisely replied.