"You look to me as if you were very ill."
"I am," the girl said simply.
"You ought to see some one. Something ought to be done."
She shook her head with quiet despair. "It would be no use--no one would
know."
"What do you mean--would know?"
"No one would understand."
"You ought to make them!"
"Never--never!" she repeated. "Never!"
"I confess _I_ don't," I replied, with a kind of angry renunciation. I
played louder, with the passion of my uneasiness and the aggravation of
my responsibility.
"No, you don't indeed," said Louisa Chantry.
I had only to accept this disadvantage, and after a moment I went on:
"What became of Mr. Brandon?"
"I don't know."
"Did he go away?"
"That same evening."
"Which same evening?"
"The day you were there. I never saw him again."