"I quite understand how you shrank from publicity," she said in a soothing tone. "You are brave and manly, I know: but a man who would face a cannon's mouth would, in a case like this, be fearful for his good name. Let me search out the matter."
"But you will allow me to help?"
"When I want your help I shall ask it of you," she replied. "And now, as our relations are changed,--for the present, at all events,--let us shake hands on the bargain of being friends."
Vivian did so without a sigh. The position was a hard one for him, but he recognised that it was harder for the girl. And when he saw how bravely she faced these difficult matters, he cursed himself for the moral cowardice which had made him submit for long years to extortion and concealment. "You put new heart into me," he said again, and they shook hands as friends, as Dinah came up with Jerry.
"Jerry and I have been talking about our new flat in London," cried Dinah, long before she arrived on the terrace. "And we will live in West Kensington. I shall keep a saloon, and be a literary woman."
"A drinking saloon?" asked Vivian, glad of the diversion.
"No, you stupid! A thing like Madame de Rambouillet--collecting all the wits of London, you know."
"Goodness knows where you'll find them," said Jerry bluffly; "wit is an extinct art.--I say, Vivian, where is Miss Carr?"
"That horrid girl!" interpolated Dinah.
"You didn't think her horrid once, Dinah, when you played with her."