“I beg your pardon. Your brother evidently has something on his mind apart from business. I am afraid that he has been getting into some sort of trouble. I don’t think there is any object in bothering him about it, but the great thing is to get him away.”
“You will help?” she begged.
“I will help, certainly,” Laverick answered. “I have promised to. You must see that he is ready to leave here at seven o’clock to-morrow morning. He wants to go to New York, and the special to catch the German boat will leave Waterloo somewhere about eight to eight-thirty.”
“But his clothes!” she cried. “How can he be ready by then?”
“Your brother does not wish me or any one to go near his rooms or to send him any of his belongings,” Laverick continued quietly.
“But how strange!” the girl exclaimed. “Do you mean to say, then, that he is going without anything?”
“I am afraid,” Laverick said kindly, “that we must take it for granted that your brother has got mixed up in some undesirable business or other. He is nervously anxious to keep his whereabouts an entire secret. He has been asking me whether any one has been to the office to inquire for him. Under the circumstances, I think the best thing we can do is to humor him. I shall buy him before to-morrow morning a cheap dressing-case and a ready-made suit of clothes, and a few things for the voyage. Then I shall send a cab for you both at seven o’clock and meet you at the station.
“You are very kind,” she murmured. “What should I have done without you? Oh, I cannot think!”
The protective instinct in the man was suddenly strong. Naturally unaffectionate, he was conscious of an almost overmastering desire to take her hands in his, even to lift her up and kiss away the tears which shone in her deep, childlike eyes. He reminded himself that she was a stranger, that her appearance of youth was a delusion, that she could only construe such an action as a liberty, an impertinence, offered under circumstances for which there could be no possible excuse.
He moved away towards the door.