“I knew you wouldn’t care to hear from me,” pursued the lively little woman. “I didn’t behave nicely to you, Monica, and I’m sorry now I listened to Conrad’s persuasions; but I’m so easy-going, and thought it all fun. I’m sorry now. I really am, for I’ve got shaken in my confidence in Master Conrad. I believe he’ll go to the dogs still, for all his professions. By-the-bye, did you ever see him after you got back to Trevlyn?”
“Once or twice. I believe he was living in his house down there.”
“That dreadful old barn! I can’t think how he can exist there. He will take to drink, and go mad, I do believe, if he stays six months in such a place. Monica, I don’t want to frighten you—I may be silly to think such a thing, but I can’t believe he’s after any good there.”
Monica shivered a little instinctively.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t quite know what I do mean. If you weren’t such an old friend, of course I couldn’t say a word; but you know perhaps that there’s something rather odd sometimes about Conrad.”
“Odd?”
“Yes—I know he’s bad enough; but it’s when he has his odd fits on that he’s worse. I don’t believe he is always altogether responsible. He’s given way, and now he can’t always help himself, I do think. He isn’t mad, of course, but he can be very wild at times,” and she glanced at her companion with something of significance.
“Why do you say all this to me?” asked Monica, with a sort of apprehension.