did not make her angry; but as she looked all over the charming scene her face had, in spite of its smile of appreciation, the flush of a sort of wounded surprise. She became silent, as if she were thinking with a secret sadness of opportunities, for ever lost, which ought to have been easy; and this gave me a chance to say to her, 'Did you mean a while ago that your aunt has a plan of keeping me on by admitting me occasionally to her presence?'
'She thinks it will make a difference with you if you sometimes see her. She wants you so much to stay that she is willing to make that concession.'
'And what good does she consider that I think it will do me to see her?'
'I don't know; she thinks it's interesting,' said Miss Tita, simply. 'You told her you found it so.'
'So I did; but every one doesn't think so.'
'No, of course not, or more people would try.'
'Well, if she is capable of making that reflection she is capable also of making this further one,' I went on: 'that I must have a particular reason for not doing as others do, in spite of the interest she offers—for not leaving her alone.' Miss Tita looked as if she failed to grasp this rather complicated proposition; so I continued, 'If you have not told her what I said to you the other night may she not at least have guessed it?'
'I don't know; she is very suspicious.'
'But she has not been made so by indiscreet curiosity, by persecution?'
'No, no; it isn't that,' said Miss Tita, turning on me a somewhat troubled face. 'I don't know how to say it: it's on account of something—ages ago, before I was born—in her life.'
