"Not a word about him to Gerald," she whispered hurriedly. "I can trust you—he knows nothing. I will tell you everything later on." How much later on it was to be Miriam little thought then.
For two years she had enjoyed comparative immunity from trouble—trouble, that is of the kind with which she had for so long been beset. But, heralded by this reappearance of Jabez, there was to come upon her a long list of disasters, following so close one upon the other, that in comparison Jabez and his misdeeds dwindled into insignificance.
"Hullo, Dundas; is it you in the flesh?" said Gerald, shaking the Major by the hand. "How are you?—all right, I hope. And your wife?" Before the Major could answer he had seen Miriam's face in the light. "Why, hullo, old girl, what's up? you've been crying!"
The Major felt a trifle embarrassed, and Miriam flushed as her husband glanced suspiciously from one to the other of them.
"Yes, Gerald, I have been crying about poor little Dicky. Major Dundas seems to fear he will go into a decline. I was so fond of the dear little child. I can't bear to think of his being ill."
"'Gad, you take it to heart a good deal more than his mother does, I'll bet. What's wrong with him, Major?"
"Oh, the child's constitutionally weak. I'm going to take him to Briggs to-morrow—got the greatest faith in Briggs. If he can't put him right none of 'em can. After he's seen him, I'll bring the boy along—in fact, I dropped in to ask your wife if she would be at home. The little chap's dying to see her again."
Advisedly the Major made no mention of Hilda's coming. He knew that if he did so, the office would most certainly not see Gerald all day. And from what he had heard, there had been quite enough of that kind of thing with Mr. Gerald already.
At luncheon they fell to talking of Lesser Thorpe and its shining lights.
"And how is Julia—amiable as ever?" asked Arkel.