“Then it was you, John Huish, after all?” Dick exclaimed angrily, as he placed his own hand behind his back.
“Yes, it was I. What else could I do, forbidden as I was to come to the house? Come, my dear Dick, don’t be hard upon me now.”
“But,” exclaimed Dick in a puzzled way, “how was all this managed?”
“Shall we let that rest?” said Huish, smiling. “Neither Gertrude nor I are very proud of our subterfuges. But come, we are brothers now. We can count upon you, can we not, to make friends with her ladyship.”
“I—don’t know,” said Dick quietly, for his mind was busy with the thoughts of the awkward reports he had heard concerning Huish and his position at various clubs, and he asked himself whether he should be the friend and advocate of a man who was declared to be little better than a blackleg.
“Surely I can count upon you,” said Huish, after a pause.
“Suppose we step down into the dining-room,” said Dick stiffly; but he gave his sister an encouraging smile as she caught his hand.
“Dick,” she whispered, “what does this mean?”
“Only a little clearing up between John Huish and me, dear,” he said. “After that, I dare say I shall be able to tell you I’m glad you’re his wife.”
Gertrude smiled, and Huish followed down to the dining-room, which, lit by one candle, looked like a vault. Arrived here, though, Dick turned sharply upon his brother-in-law.