"Well enough," answered the other, as Stark had answered him.
"That means not absolutely well," replied Cecil quickly. "Miss Malherb—all at least is well with her? Yet—Mr. Norcot. 'Tis intolerable, you know, Jack Lee, that I should speak of that man except to bless him for his goodness. Nevertheless—Miss Malherb—but this is none of your business I doubt?"
"It won't be much longer; for the present it is," said John. "I know she hates Mr. Peter Norcot. She's bound to hate him in self-defence. But, nevertheless, 'tis intended she shall marry him within six months."
"Yet there's a man she—she loves. It's too terrible! She suffers—she must suffer horribly. And this other—why doesn't he come forward and sweep Norcot out of her path? What clay is this creature made of that he holds back?"
"The man?"
"Do you know him?"
"I do."
"Then tell him from me—but what's the use of bellowing like a pent-up bull? Can't you, at least, assure him from yourself that he must be up and doing? You're in your lady's good graces—therefore justify her trust. Seek this laggard and explain how the land lies. Maybe 'tis her tyrant father he fears."
"The man knows everything. He can't help her."
"Cannot! What's the matter with him? Has he no arms, nor legs, nor courage? Is he made of gingerbread? Oh, if I—— But perhaps I speak ignorant of facts. Maybe he's chained fast, too."