He sank into a low chair at her right hand, and looked quite devotionally into her face. Lesley felt a trifle disturbed. She could not forget that Oliver was Ethel's lover, and she did not think that he ought to look at her so—eagerly—she did not know what else to call it. It was a look that made her uncomfortable. Nobody had ever looked at her in that way before. They did not look like that in the convent.
"It is nothing very particular," she said, shrinking back a little. "Only I have nobody to ask."
"I know—I understand," said Oliver, in his softest tones. Somehow his sympathy did not offend her, as Mr. Kenyon's had done.
"It is very stupid of me," Lesley went on, trying to smile, "not to ask my father or Aunt Sophy; but I am afraid they would only laugh at me."
"I shall not laugh at you," said Oliver, marvelling inwardly.
"Won't you? You are sure? It is only a little, stupid, ordinary question. Do you know anything about Macclesfield Buildings?"
Oliver drew himself up in his chair. Was that the question? He did not believe it. But he answered her unsmilingly.
"Yes, Miss Brooke. They are the blocks of workmen's dwellings where your father has founded a
Club."
"Has he?" said Lesley, her eyes dilating. "That is—very good of him, isn't it?"