“You don’t; really not! By George! I like to hear you say that; but,” with a slow shake of the head, “I’m afraid it’s true. Yes, I am a regular bad lot.”
“Tell me what you have done that is so wrong,” she said.
“Oh—I’ve—I’ve spent all my money.”
“That’s not so very wrong; you have hurt only yourself.”
“Jove, that’s a new way of looking at it,” he muttered. “And”—aloud—“and I’ve run into debt, and I’ve—oh, I can’t tell you any more; I don’t want you to hate me!”
“Hate you? I could not do that.”
He sprang to his feet, paced up and down, and then dropped at her side again.
“Well, that’s all about myself,” he said; “now tell me about yourself.”
“No,” she said; “not yet. Tell me why you are going to Arkdale?”
“I’m going to Arkdale to take a train to Hurst Leigh to see my uncle, cousin, or whatever he is—Squire Davenant.”