“Who? The Honorable Arthur?”
Michael nodded.
“Yes, we met him first at Covent Garden, and went to Brighton with him and another boy—Clarehaven—Lord Clarehaven.”
“Oh, I remember him at the House,” said Michael.
“Money is necessary sometimes, you know,” Sylvia laughed.
“Of course it is. Look here. Will you in future, whenever you feel you’re in a nightmare—will you write to me and let me send money?” he asked. “I know you despise me and of course ... I understand; but I can’t bear to think of anyone being haunted as you must be haunted sometimes. Don’t be proud about this, because I’ve got no pride left. I’m only terribly anxious to be of service to somebody. There’s really no reason for you to be proud. You see, I should always be so very much more anxious to help than you would to be helped. And it really isn’t only because of Lily that I say this. I’ve got a good many books you’d enjoy, and I think I’ll send them to you. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” she said, looking at him curiously.
Michael turned away from her down the gravel-path, and a moment later slammed the door. He had only gone a few steps away, when he heard Sylvia calling after him.
“You stupid!” she said. “You never told me Lily’s address.”
“I’ll give you a card.”