people's secrets I would not betray them, you
know that."

Unfortunately Elinor here murmured, scarcely knowing what words came
from her lips, "That is what John says."

"John," said the boy, furious with the quick rage of injured tenderness
and pride, "Uncle John! and you tell him more, him, an outsider, than
you tell me!"

He let her go then, which was a great relief to Elinor, for she could
command herself better when he was a little farther off, and could not
feel the thrill that was in her, and the thumping of her heart.

"You must remember, Pippo," she said, "what I have told you, that my
present very disagreeable, very painful business is about things that
happened before you were born, which John knew everything about. He was
my adviser then, as far as I would take any advice, which I am afraid
never was much, Pippo," she said; "never, alas! all my life. Granny will
tell you that. But John, always the kindest friend and the best brother
in the world, did everything he could. And it would have been better for
us all if I had taken his advice instead of always, I fear, always my
own way."

Strangely enough this cheered Pippo and swept the cloud from his face.
"I'm glad you didn't take anybody's advice, mother. I shouldn't have
liked it. I've more faith in you than anybody. Well, then, now about
this man. What man in the world--I really mean in the world, in what is
called society, for that is the kind of people they were--could have
such a curiosity about--me?"

She had resumed her seat, and her face was turned away from him. Also
the exquisite tone of complacency and innocent self-appreciation with
which Philip expressed this wonder helped her a little to surmount the
situation. Elinor could have laughed had her heart been only a trifle
less burdened. She said: "Are you sure it was at you?"

"Uncle John said something about ladies behind us, but I am sure it was
no ladies behind. It might, of course," the boy added, cautiously, "have
been _him_, you know. I suppose Uncle John's a personage, isn't he? But
after all, you know, hang it, mother, it isn't easy to believe that a
fellow like that would stare so at Uncle John."

"Poor John! It is true there is not much novelty about him," said
Elinor, with a tremble in her voice, which, if it was half agitation,
was yet a little laughter too: for there are scarcely any circumstances,
however painful, in which those who are that way moved by nature are
quite abl