“I think,” began L'Estrange, “if I were in your place, I'd tell Cutbill. I'd explain to him how matters stood; and—”
“No, no,” broke in Jack; “that won't do at all. The poor dog is too hard up for that.”
“Jack is right,” said Nelly, warmly.
“Of course he is, so far as Mr. Cutbill goes,” broke in Julia; “but we want to do right to every one. Now, how about your brother and his suit?”
“What if I were to show him this letter,” said Augustus, “to let him see that Sedley means to be here to-morrow, to remain at farthest three days; is it not likely Cutbill would himself desire to avoid meeting him?”
“Not a bit of it,” cried Jack. “It's the thing of all others he 'd glory in; he 'd be full of all the lively impertinences that he could play off on the lawyer; and he 'd write a comic song on him—ay, and sing it in his own presence.”
“Nothing more likely,” said Julia, gravely.
“Then what is to be done? Is there no escape out of the difficulty?” asked Augustus.
“Yes,” said Nelly, “I think there is. The way I should advise would be this: I 'd show Mr. Cutbill Sedley's letter, and taking him into counsel, as it were, on the embarrassment of his own position, I 'd say, 'We must hide you somewhere for these three days.'”
“But he wouldn't see it, Nelly. He'd laugh at your delicate scruples; he 'd say, 'That's the one man in all Europe I 'm dying to meet.'”