“I will,” he said, quietly; “for I am in urgent need of a friend, especially just now.”
He stopped and looked at her; she was watching him with an expression of frankness and sympathy.
“Vane,” he began slowly, “I came down this morning on purpose to talk to my mother on a subject that is more than life to me. I anticipate—I know—I shall have a hard struggle with her, though, despite all she may say, I shall be firm. Will you help me in this struggle?”
Vane rose to her feet again; her breath was coming fast, and a presentiment of something disagreeable passed through her mind.
“Tell me what it is, Stuart,” she said, quietly, unfurling a large fan she carried, and holding it against the light, ostensibly to shield her face from the sun, in reality to keep it hidden from her cousin.
“Vane, do you remember the fourth day of your visit here, when I took you to see Sir Charles?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“Do you remember a girl who was sitting in a corner and who brought me some water for the dog? I introduced her—Margery Daw.”
Vane caught Stuart’s eager glance, and her heart seemed to cease beating.
“Yes,” she replied, a little coldly.