“I have given it. Didn’t you hear me say I’d not speak of it?”
“Well, Sir, the matter is this: Great uneasiness is being felt here at the intimacy that has grown up between you and Miss Vyner. Motives of extreme delicacy towards you—who, of course, not having lived much in the world, could not be expected to weigh such considerations—but motives of great delicacy, as I say, have prevented any notice being taken of this intimacy, and a hope has been felt that you yourself, once awakened to the fact of the long interval that separates her condition from yours, would soon see the propriety, indeed the necessity, of another line of conduct, and thus not require what may seem an admonition, though I really intend you should receive it as the warning counsel of a friend.”
“Have you been commissioned to say this to me?” asked Luttrell, haughtily.
“Though I had decided with myself not to answer any questions, I will reply to this one—and this only. I have.”
“Who gave you this charge?”
M’Kinlay shook his head, and was silent.
“Was it Sir Gervais Vyner?”
Another shake of the head was the reply.
“I thought not. I am certain, too, it was not Lady Vyner. Be frank, Sir, and tell me candidly. It was Miss Courtenay employed you on this errand?”
“I really see no necessity for any explanation on my part, Mr. Luttrell. I have already transgressed the limits of mere prudence in the avowal I have made you. I trust you will be satisfied with my candour.”