“Must I answer that?” he said.
“You must.”
“I—I left in consequence of a great disappointment,” said poor Bertie, his face downcast.
“A love disappointment?” asked Mr. Edgar, who would have spared no one in his endeavor to save the client who would not stretch out a finger to save himself. “Did Lord Clydesfold know of this?”
“He did,” said Bertie in a low voice. “He had been, as he has always been, the truest, stanchest friend through—this trouble. It was he who advised me to go abroad, who gave me the sympathy and counsel of a brother. I owe it to him that I did not give way and go to the bad——”
He stopped and raised his eyes—they were moist—to the spot where Olivia sat.
Mr. Edgar saw the glance, and his own eyes grew keen.
“I am sorry to have to ask you the question, but I must do it. Was the lady with whom you were in love, Miss Vanley?”
Bertie flushed, then he raised his head, and said in a low, grave voice:
“It was Miss Vanley.”