Page:The Private Life, Lord Beaupré, The Visits (New York, Harper & Brothers, 1893).djvu/234

224 "She's in a very strange state—something happened there."

"And what happened, pray?"

"I can't make out; she won't tell me."

"Then what makes you suppose so?"

"She has broken down utterly; she says there was something."

"Then she does tell you?"

"Not a bit. She only begins, and then stops short; she says it's too dreadful."

"Too dreadful?"

"She says it's horrible," my poor friend murmured, with tears in her eyes and tragic speculation in her mild maternal face.

"But in what way? Does she give you no facts, no clew?"

"It was something she did."

We looked at each other a moment. "Did?" I echoed. "Did to whom?"

"She won't tell me—she says she can't. She tries to bring it out, but it sticks in her throat."

"Nonsense. She did nothing," I said.

"What could she do?" Helen asked, gazing at me.