“Yes.”
“I recollect. It had slipped my memory.”
“I wish I could prevent its ever reaching you.”
Hugh burst into his cheery laugh.
“That’s what I feel sometimes when I’ve sent off an epistle to the pater. But you don’t suppose anything you said to me would make me cut up rough?”
“When you’ve got it you’ll understand why I go,” the other went on, unheeding.
“Mysteries, mysteries!”
It must be owned that Wareham thought his speech would have thrown a little light. He breathed hard, and his face flushed. Hugh went on—
“I know you’ve thought hard things of Anne. But, old fellow, you’ve never failed me yet; and that’s why I want you now. You could say what I can’t say myself.”
“What one can’t say oneself had better remain unsaid.” Something in the tone penetrated, and gave the young man a tinge of uneasiness.