"
"You think not?"
"I--it seems as if I took advantage of--oh, that's just what I did! I'm
not asking you to forgive me----"
"It isn't so much a question of forgiving, as putting things straight.
We _must_ put them straight----"
"I'll do whatever you wish," I promised. "Only--let me go soon."
"Are you afraid of me?" There was sharpness in his tone.
"Not afraid. I am--utterly humiliated."
"Why did you do this--thing? Let's have that out first."
"The thought came into my head when I was at my wits' end--for my
brother. Not that that's an excuse!"
"I'm not worrying about excuses. It's explanations I need, I had my own
theories--thinking it all over--and wondering--whether it would be you
or a stranger I should find. The name was the one thing I had to go on:
'O'Malley' and its likeness to Ommalee. That was the way I heard your
name pronounced, you know, when we met. I was coming back to see you and
make sure. But I was laid up in Paris with an attack of typhoid. Perhaps
Mother told you?"
"Yes. But please, let us not talk of that! There isn't much time. You'll
have to go back to Fath--to Mr. and Mrs. Beckett. Tell me quickly what
you want me to do."
"I was forgetting for a minute. You look very pale, Miss O'Malley.
Hadn't you better sit down?"
"No, thank you. I like standing--where I am."
"Ah!" he gave a sudden exclamation. At last he had seen Brian's sketch.
He had not noticed it, or any of the "den treasures," before.
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