'
'Yes, indeed. I do love your father so dearly.'
'So do I--rather.'
'May I tell you something about him?' As she asked the question
she was standing very close to him, leaning upon his arm, with her
left hand crossed upon her right. Had others been there, of course
she would not have stood in such a guise. She knew that,--and he
knew it too. Of course there was something in it of declared
affection,--of that kind of love which most of us have been happy
enough to give and receive, without intending to show more than
true friendship will allow at special moments.
'Don't tell me anything about him I shan't like to hear.'
'Ah;--that is so hard to know. I wish you would like to hear it.'
'What can it be?'
'I cannot tell you now.'
'Why not? And why did you offer?'
'Because,--Oh, Silverbridge.'
He certainly as yet did not understand it. It had never occurred
to him that she would know what were his father's wishes. Perhaps
he was slow of comprehension as he urged her to tell him what this
was about his father. 'What can you tell me about him, that I
should not like to hear?'
'You do not know? Oh, Silverbridge, I think you know.
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