He thought he saw a shadow on his sister's face, and detected a slight change in her voice as she spoke.
"Nothing very romantic, I hope, Thurstan. Remember, I cannot stand much romance; I always distrust it."
"I don't know what you mean by romance. The story is real enough, and not out of the common way, I'm afraid."
He paused; he did not get over the difficulty.
"Well, tell it me at once, Thurstan. I am afraid you have let some one, or perhaps only your own imagination, impose upon you; but don't try my patience too much; you know I've no great stock."
"Then I'll tell you. The young girl was brought to the inn here by a gentleman, who has left her; she is very ill, and has no one to see after her."
Miss Benson had some masculine tricks, and one was whistling a long, low whistle when surprised or displeased. She had often found it a useful vent for feelings, and she whistled now. Her brother would rather she had spoken.
"Have you sent for her friends?" she asked, at last.