“No, not a word. I was asleep when you spoke.”
“Asleep?”
“Yes. What is there strange in that? A man must have rest, and I have been out for the last three nights with anxious cases. Was I talking?”
“Yes, dear,” said Jenny, rising, to go behind the chair and lay her soft little hands upon her brother’s head. “Talking about that shut-up house, and this Mr Garstang. I thought it was not possible, and that it was very wild of you to take a house in this street so as to be near and watch him, but nothing could have been better. You are getting as busy as you used to be in Westminster. But Pierce, dear,” she whispered softly, “don’t you think we should be happier if we were in full confidence with one another—as we were once?”
“No,” he said, gloomily, “I shall never be happy again.”
“You will, dear, when some day we meet Kate, and all this mystery about her is at an end.”
“Meet Miss Wilton and her husband,” he said, bitterly.
“No, dear; if I know anything of women you will never meet Kate Wilton’s husband. Pierce, dear, I am your sister, and I have been so lonely lately, ever since we came to London. You have never quite forgiven me all that unhappy business. Don’t you think you could if you tried?”
He sat perfectly silent for a few moments, and then reached round, took her in his arms, and kissed her long and lovingly.
In an instant she was clinging to his neck, sobbing wildly, and he had hard work trying to soothe her.