"How old are you?" I asked.
"Twenty-two last May," she replied.
"Isn't that the dinner-bell I hear in the distance?" I said.
"Yes," she answered, "and we will go down."
On the way she stopped, and we stood facing each other. "I am greatly
obliged to you," she said, "for giving me your confidence in this way,
and I want you to believe that I shall be thoroughly loyal to you, and
that I never will breathe anything you have said. But I also want you
to know that I do not change any of my opinions. Now we understand
each other, don't we?"
"Yes," I answered, "but I think I understand you better than you
understand me."
"Not a bit of it," she replied; "that's nonsense. Do you see that
flower-pot on the top of the stump by the little hill over there?
Percy has been firing at it with his air-gun. Do you think you could
hit it with an apple? Let's each take three apples and try."
It was late in the afternoon when Miss Edith returned from the Holly
Sprig, where she and Genevieve had driven in a pony-cart. I was with
the rest of the family on the golf links a short distance from the
house, and it was some time before she got a chance to speak to me,
but she managed at last.
"How did she take the news?" I eagerly asked.
The girl hesitated. "I don't think I ought to tell you all she said
and did. It was really a private interview between us two, and I know
she would not want me to say much about it. And I don't think you
would want to hear everything."
I hastened to assure her that I would not ask for the particulars of
the conversation. I only wished to know the general effect of the
message upon her. That was legitimate enough, as, in fact, she
received the message through me.
"Well, she was very much affected, and it would have teen dreadful if
you had gone. Oh the whole, however, I cannot help thinking that the
Italian's letter was a great relief to her, particularly because she
found that her husband had been killed by mistake. She said that one
of the greatest loads upon her soul had been the feeling that he had
had an enemy who hated him enough to kill him. But now the case is
very different, and it is a great comfort to her to know it."
"And about the murderer?" I said. "Did you ask her if she wanted steps
taken to apprehend him?"
"Yes," she said, "I did speak of it, and she is very anxious that
nothing shall be done in that direction. Even if the Italian should be
caught, she would not have the affair again publicly discussed and
dissected. She believes the man's story, and she never wants to hear
of him again. Indeed, I think that if it should be proved that the
Italian killed Mr. Chester on purpose, it would be the greatest blow
that could be inflicted upon her."