"Fitz," he said, "give me your consent, and I will do it. You know how I love her. You have been more of a parent to her than her father. Say you consent, and I will snatch her from their clutches."
"I consent," said Fitz, "with all my heart, and I should think you less than the man you are if you didn't."
"I am thinking of her," said Bertie, rising and walking to the window. "Will she ever forgive me?"
"Try her," said Fitz, rising and walking toward him. "Try her. She loves you, Bert, I know, and——What's the matter?"
"Look here, quick!" exclaimed Bertie, who had started suddenly. "Look there—among the crowd now crossing the road! Isn't that the very figure and walk of poor Les? Heavens above! How like. It sent every nerve of me thrilling," and he sank into a chair, staring out of the window still.
"I didn't see him," said Fitz. "Poor fellow! you were great friends. Was it anything like him in the face?"
"No—too old," said Bertie, with a sigh. "Poor Les! Poor Les!"
Then he fell to walking the room, and drank his soda and brandy like one parched with thirst.
That night Ethel was taken to Coombe Lodge, and Bertie, who had called at Grosvenor Square, was told that the family had left town.
Meanwhile Fitz remained, and the conversation he had with Bertie had nerved him to courage.