“Ah!” cried George, his face brightening. “What is it, my dear Mrs. Pocklington?”
“As to my husband, I say nothing; but as to Laura——”
“Yes, yes!”
“Let her alone—absolutely.”
“Let her alone! But that’s giving it up.”
“Don’t call, don’t write, don’t be known to speak of her. There, I’ve done what I oughtn’t; but you’re an old friend of mine, George.”
“But I say, Mrs. Pocklington, won’t some other fellow seize the chance?”
“If she likes you best, what does that matter? If she doesn’t——” And Mrs. Pocklington shrugged her shoulders.
George was convinced by this logic. “I will try,” he said.