emotion, and she went on in the same tone: I can't—I can't—while she lies there. It isn't decent.'
'No, it isn't decent,' I replied, gravely. 'Let the poor lady rest in peace.' And the words, on my lips, were not hypocritical, for I felt reprimanded and shamed.
Miss Tita added in a moment, as if she had guessed this and were sorry for me, but at the same time wished to explain that I did drive her on or at least did insist too much: 'I can't deceive her that way. I can't deceive her—perhaps on her deathbed.'
'Heaven forbid I should ask you, though I have been guilty myself!'
'You have been guilty?'
'I have sailed under false colours.' I felt now as if I must tell her that I had given her an invented name, on account of my fear that her aunt would have heard of me and would refuse to take me in. I explained this and also that I had really been a party to the letter written to them by John Cumnor months before.
She listened with great attention, looking at me with parted lips, and when I had made my confession she said, 'Then your real name—what is it?' She repeated it over twice when I had told her, accompanying it with the exclamation 'Gracious, gracious!' Then she added, 'I like your own best.'
'So do I,' I said, laughing. 'Ouf! it's a relief to get rid of the other.'
'So it was a regular plot—a kind of conspiracy?'
'Oh, a conspiracy—we were only two,' I replied, leaving out Mrs. Prest of course.
She hesitated; I thought she was perhaps going
