“What news have you of him? he was a great favorite of mine.”
“Of yours and of everybody's,” said Cutbill. And now the color rushed back to Julia's cheek, and had Cutbill but looked towards her, it is very probable he would greatly have misconstrued the smile she gave him. “I wish I had news of him: but for these last few months I have none. When he got out to China he found that great house, Alcock and Baines, smashed—all the tea-merchants were smashed—and they tell me that he shipped with a Yankee for Constantinople.”
“You heard from him, then?”
“No; he never writes to any one. He may send you a newspaper, or a piece of one, to show where he is; but he says he never was able to say what was in his head, and he always found he was writing things out of the 'Complete Correspondent.'”
“Poor Jack!”
“Shall I go and look after your coffee, George? You say you like me to make it myself,” said Julia; and she arose and left the room almost before he could reply.
“You 'll never marry while she's your housekeeper, I see that,” said Cutbill, as the door closed after her.
“She is my greatest comfort in life,” said the other, warmly.
“I see it all; and the whole time of dinner I was thinking what a pity it was—No matter, I 'll not say what I was going to say. I 'm glad you have n't told her of the smash till I see what I can do with the old Viscount.”
“But I have told her; she knows it all.”