"I must remind you again," Lesley went on, in a cool, businesslike manner, though her eyes were starry, "that I have come twenty miles to question you. And my aunt is waiting for you with the cousins who telegraphed about 'Lord Bob.' You know, you mustn't go on using Sidney Cremer's play."
"We have no intention of doing so," said Loveland. And then, in as few words as possible, without any attempt at defending himself for his part in the transaction, he explained baldly that the manager had deserted the company, and that they had only one piece, "Lord Bob." They had produced it for three nights, in the hope of making money enough to get away, but the result had proved disappointing.
"My affairs are rather in a muddle just now," Loveland finished; "but as soon as I get them straightened out again, which I expect to do shortly, I will myself pay Mr. Cremer's fee for these performances, if you'll let me know what they are."
"Oh, Sidney wouldn't want you to do that," the girl explained. "I—neither of us knew that the company was in trouble. My cousins here didn't tell us that—I suppose they didn't know, either. We thought it was simply an ordinary case of piracy. But I can answer for Sidney, as if it were for myself. He wouldn't want fees, and he wouldn't take any severe measures in such a case as this. If only you give me your word, Lord Lo—, I mean, Mr. Gordon, that these people won't go about the country playing this piece, I'll ask nothing more."
"You may set Mr. Cremer's mind at rest about that," Loveland answered bitterly. "They aren't likely to go about the country playing any piece."
"You mean, they—you—are stranded here?" enquired Lesley.
"Oh, I'm all right," Loveland said hurriedly, far from wishing to pose as an object of pity. "It's the others I'm thinking of."
She gave him a quick, clear look. "Would you go away and leave them here, in trouble?" she asked.
"No, I won't do that," replied Val. "I mean to do something for them."
"What can you do, if your affairs are in such a muddle as you say?"