"What about you, Mr Neeld?"
"My dear friend, oh, my dear friend!" Undisguised panic took possession of Mr Neeld. He tried to cover it by saying sternly, "This—er—preposterous position is entirely your own fault, you know. You have acted——"
"Yes, I know," nodded Harry, not impatiently but with a sombre assent. He roused himself the next moment, saying, "Well, somebody's got to bell the cat, you know."
"Really it's not my business," protested Neeld and Mina in one breath, both laughing nervously.
"You like the fun, but you don't want any of the work," remarked Harry.
That was true, true to their disgrace. They both felt the reproach. How were they better than the rest of the neighborhood, who were content to gossip and gape and take the fortunes of the Tristrams as mere matter for their own entertainment?
"I've made you look ashamed of yourselves now," he laughed. "Well, I must do the thing myself, I suppose. What a pity Miss Swinkerton isn't here!"
Cecily came down. She passed Harry with a rather distant air and took Neeld's arm.
"They say dinner's ready," said she. "Mina, will you come with Harry?"