“Oliver is all the world with them,” said Clive uneasily, “at least if one may trust half the messages he brings back.”
“Why on earth don’t you write direct instead of trusting to messages?”
“Direct? Why of course I do,” said Clive staring blankly.
“Well, openly then. Telling them of any—difficulties you may be in.”
“I can’t see the good of worrying them about all the particulars when one has made a fool of oneself, but they know the outcome of it.”
Clive said this frankly and without hesitation. Jack became more and more doubtful how he was to go on. Even if you believe a fellow-man, you may be offering him the worst insult in your power by telling him so.
“They fancy they don’t know, at any rate,” he said rather lamely.
“Not know! Why, haven’t they had Oliver out there? There was nothing to prevent their getting it all out of him. In fact, he told me he had explained everything.”
“He certainly left them with the impression that there were circumstances you didn’t wish made known.” The young man started to his feet and flushed angrily red.
“I?”