At last Mrs. Atherton rose to go away, when, taking Salome's hand in hers, she held it for a moment, and said,—
"My dear child, I have not seen you since we met you on the Whitelands Road. It was very late for you to be out alone, and with a stranger."
Salome's colour rushed to her face, and was of course misunderstood.
"You are so young, my dear," Mrs. Atherton said; "and I daresay, living in the country, you have often been out late in your own grounds and village. But here it is different. And you were talking and walking with a gentleman. Was he an old friend?"
"No," said Salome, "oh no; I had never seen him before. Oh, please do not ask me any more questions."
The look of distress on Salome's face touched Mrs. Atherton.
"My dear child," she said tenderly, "if you were my own daughter, I should say what I now say. Do not think that I interfere unduly, but let me earnestly advise you not to place yourself in the same position again. Will you promise?"
Salome was silent. How could she promise, when once more she must meet Philip Percival and tell him if she had succeeded in getting the money or not? Perhaps she might write to him, but somehow she felt it would be better to see him.
Mrs. Atherton waited, as if for an answer; and as none came, she dropped Salome's hand, and turned away.
"Do kiss me again," Salome said. "And do trust me. I thought, and I still think, I was doing right that evening."