Ivy, with a sigh, dropped behind with Bridget, who, in her motherly fashion, took her under her special protection as they crossed the wide road near the Aquarium, little guessing that this small person was well used to going about London quite alone at all hours.
“And how are things going at Queen Anne’s Gate?” asked Ralph, when Evereld had told him all about her life at Southbourne.
“It’s so dull I hardly know how to bear it,” said Evereld. “You see, I’m too big now for children’s parties, and, of course, I’m not out yet. I miss you all day long, and no one so much as speaks of you, except now and then Mr. Bruce Wylie, and he always did like you.”
“Not he,” said Ralph. “He made believe, though, for the sake of pleasing you.”
“I see that you have not lost your way of thinking evil of people,” said Evereld, reproachfully. “Mr. Wylie is the kindest man I know.”
“But you don’t know him,” said Ralph. “You merely see him now and then and like his pleasant way of talking, and find him a relief from the Mactavish clan.”
“And how much do you know him?” said Evereld, teasingly.
“Not much, certainly,” he was constrained to own with a smile, “and it may be jealousy that makes me decry him. Yet, if instinct goes for anything, he is a man I should never trust.”
“What! such a frank, straightforward sort of man as that?” she exclaimed, in dismay.
“I know he’s very plausible, I know he has many good points even, but I fancy he could persuade himself that anything was right if only it promoted his own ends.”