“Yes; to the ‘George.’ I shall see you a week hence in town, shall I not?”
“If I am alive,” he answered emphatically. “I am quite as anxious as you are to solve this terrible mystery.”
They had reached the end of the platform, and were quite alone for the minute. Mrs. O’Hara turned and faced him.
“Will you answer me one question, Lawrence?” she said.
“I don’t know,” he replied, flushing slightly.
“Are you in love with Lady Gwendolyn St. Maur? You know you may trust me, for I am one of those people who seem very frank, and yet never let out a secret. As I am not supposed to have any I am never even questioned, so that I am really as safe a confidante as it is possible for any one to have.”
“But I don’t need a confidante, Norah.”
“Nonsense,” she said decidedly. “There’s no comfort like talking over one’s troubles to a friend. I declare, when I got into the train this evening, I felt as if my heart were breaking, and now everything seems more bearable. I must tell you that I had a hint a little while ago that you were fond of Lady Gwendolyn, and what I have seen to-night confirms it, so you may as well tell me the truth.”
“Well,” he said, at last, diffidently but proudly, “I do love Gwendolyn St. Maur with all my heart.”
“Then I hope you may win her, if she is worthy of you,” said Mrs. O’Hara, with a cordial smile. “I know she does not like me, and thinks me a very dangerous woman; but then I am the bête noir of all Lady Maur’s friends.”