“So do I,” broke in Jack, roughly; “I heard all about her at the club last night. Hetley and Dalrymple bored me to death about her. She’s a great heiress and a beauty, and all the rest of it. I know, and I don’t want to hear any more.”
Jack went up to Len and laid his hand on his shoulder.
“Forgive me, old fellow; but I—my heart is full. Only one woman in the world has any interest for me, and she has gone—up to the sky again, I suppose. What do I care for Lady Bell, or Lady anyone else? I tell you I laid awake half the night thinking of that beautiful face, and dreamed of her eyes the rest of the night; and I’d give all the world if I had it, to find her. And much good it would do me if I succeeded? I couldn’t ask her to share twenty-one pounds six and a brass button!”
“Forgive me, Jack,” said Leonard, quietly. “I know what you mean. I’m in love myself. But—but at any rate you can’t treat Lady Bell rudely. You must call and thank her.”
“Confound her!” said Jack, and hurried out of the room.
Leonard looked after him, and then went on with his work. He saw no more of him until late in the evening, when Jack came in and threw himself into a chair, looking weary if not exhausted.
“What have you been doing, Jack?” asked Leonard.
“Looking for a needle in a bundle of hay,” replied Jack, grimly.
Leonard nodded.
“I’ve been walking about ever since I left you, with scarcely a rest. I’ve walked through every thoroughfare in London. I’ve looked into windows and into shops. I’ve been warned off and told to move on by the police, who thought I was a burglar on the search for a job; and here I am and there is she as far off as ever. And yet I feel—Heavens knows why—that she is here in London. Len, if you smile I shall knock you down.”