“I didn’t like to ask her. She seemed to be in entire ignorance as to his movements. And she was so upset. It was her manner that made me suspicious. She was dazed, and—oh! hopeless. No one would take the disappearance of a governess to heart like that. I told her you would run in for a chat and advise her what to do.”
He groaned.
“Why couldn’t you leave me out of it?” he protested. “I can’t advise her. I’ve no experience in these things. You can tell her from me not to bother her head about the matter. I’ll make inquiries to-morrow, and find out what I can. I don’t suppose it will lead to much. The girl is old enough to look after herself, and Arnott’s movements are no concern of mine.”
“Well, really! Dickie, you might be more helpful,” she said.
“That is being helpful,” he insisted. “It’s a much more reasonable idea than yours, and more discreet in the circumstances. If things are anything like so bad as you are trying to make out, the less I run in there the better.”
Mrs Carruthers laughed.
“You nice chivalrous person!” she scoffed. “A fine friend you make for a woman in distress.”
“Distressed women aren’t my forte,” he said. “You should enlist the sympathies of an unmarried man. These bachelors in their sublime ignorance are bolder.”
“I would enlist the help of George Dare,” she said, “if it wasn’t for the unfortunate circumstance of his being—”
She broke off abruptly. To finish the sentence would have been to abuse Dare’s confidence, and she had no wish to do that.