This, whether your judgment coincided with hers or not.
"Yet your mother is your very best friend," I ventured gently, with a realisation of my responsibility which did not add much to my self-possession.
She seemed startled.
"Not in this, not in this," she objected, with a renewal of her anxious glances, this time up and down the street.

"I must get a word to Arthur.
I _must_." I saw that she had some deeper reason than appeared, for desiring communication with him.

I was debating how best to meet the situation and set her right as to my ability to serve her, without breaking down her spirit too seriously, when I felt her feverish hand pressing her little note into my unwilling palm.
"Don't read it," she whispered, innocent of all offence and only anxious to secure my good offices.

"It's for Arthur.

I've used the thinnest paper, so that you can secrete it in something he will be sure to get.
Don't disappoint me.