Volume Two—Chapter Twenty Three.
Nelly’s Confidence.
The Brays’ mansion in Harley-street, and as grand a dinner as had been in the long, gaunt, dreary place for months past. Sir Philip and Charley had called the morning before, and Nelly had planted herself by Charley’s side, to keep there the whole time. Not that Laura seemed to mind; for she was gentle, slightly constrained, but there was a saddened suffering look in her countenance which lighted up whenever Charley said a few words.
For some reason she kept glancing at him with a troubled air—perhaps from some dread in connection with her plain avowals; but Charley was the quiet gentleman in every word and look; and before they left, all seemed to be quite at ease, so that the young man was almost angry with himself for feeling so quiet and happy during the half-hour or so the visit had lasted, besides which he had been merrily laughing two or three times with Nelly.
“Do, do, please!” Nelly had whispered; and those whispers had made Laura’s breast heave as she interpreted them to relate to Ella Bedford, whose name, however, had not been mentioned.
“I daren’t,” said Charley laughingly, in answer to Nelly’s appeal.
“O do—do—do!” whispered Nelly again. “You owe me ever so much for being your friend.”
Charley’s face darkened.
“Please I didn’t mean to hurt you,” said Nelly gently; “don’t be angry with me,” for she had seen the cloud cross his countenance.
“I’m not angry, my child,” he said, smiling again.