“N—no. Unless I call upon him, which I have no excuse for doing.”
“Oh! I thought you knew him.”
“I met him at that concert.”
“But I thought you were in the habit of going about with him. At least, I understood him one day to say that you had been to the theatre together.”
“So we were; but only once. We went there after the concert, and I have never seen him since.”
“Oh, indeed! I quite mistook.”
“If you have any particular reason for wishing me to see him, I will. It will be all right if I have a message from you. Shall I call on him? It will be no trouble to me.”
“No, oh no. I wanted—it was something that could only be told to him indirectly by an intimate friend—by some one with influence over him. More a hint than anything else. But it does not matter. At least, it cannot be helped.”
Conolly did not speak until they had gone some thirty yards or so in silence. Then he said: “If the matter is of serious importance to you, Miss Lind, I think I can manage to have a message conveyed to him by a person who has influence over him. I am not absolutely certain that I can; but probably I shall succeed without any great difficulty.”
Marian looked at him in some surprise. “I hardly know what I ought to do,” she said, doubtfully.