She spoke more bitterly than I had ever heard her speak before. I said,
''Your uncle loves you, I''m sure. But Mr Rivers—'' The words got caught in my throat, and I coughed. ''Mr Rivers loves you, too.''
''You think he does, Sue? He spoke so fiercely yesterday, beside the river, while you slept. He spoke of London—of his house, his studio—he says he longs to take me there, not as his pupil, but as his wife. He says he thinks of nothing but that. He says he thinks that to wait for me will kill him! You think he means it, Sue?''
She waited. I thought, ''It''s not a lie, it''s not a lie, he loves her for her money. I think he would die if he lost it now.'' I said,
''I know it, miss.''
She looked at the ground. ''But, what can he do?''
''He must ask your uncle.''
''He cannot!''
''Then''—I drew in my breath—''you must find another way.'' She said nothing, but moved her head. ''You must do that.'' Still nothing. ''Isn''t there,'' I said, ''another way you might take . . .?''
She lifted her eyes to mine and blinked back her tears. She looked anxiously to left and to right, then drew a little closer. She said, in a whisper:
''You''ll tell no-one, Sue?''
''Tell them what, miss?''
She blinked again, hesitating. ''You must promise not to tell. You must swear it!''