“Yes; and he’s very poor, and can’t get an engagement, clever as he is; and it seems very shocking for a gentleman to be so poor that he can’t pay his way, and we are so rich.”
“Oh, I’m not,” said Glyn, laughing.
“Yes, you are, while that poor fellow can hardly pay the rent of his room, and he confessed to me—I didn’t ask him—but he was so anxious to tell me why he had not paid me that money back that—”
“Why, you haven’t been lending him money, have you?” cried Glyn.
“Well—yes, a trifle. He called it lending; but when I heard from Mr Morris how badly the poor fellow was off, of course I meant it as a gift; but I couldn’t tell a gentleman that it was to be so.”
“Then you have been there before?”
“Yes, two or three times. Mr Morris said that it would be a kindness, for the Professor sent me messages, begging me to go and see him, as he has led such a lonely life among strangers, and he wanted to communicate to me some very interesting discoveries he had made in the Hindustani language.”
“Oh,” said Glyn slowly; “and did he ask you to lend him money each time you went?”
“Well, not quite. He somehow let it out how poor he was, and I felt quite hot and red to think of him being in such a condition; and Mr Morris, too, gave me a sort of hint that a trifle would be acceptable to him. And there, that’s all. Why do you want to keep on bothering about it?”
“Mr Morris took you there, and talked to you like that?”