“You don’t?” said Tom.
“No,” said the baronet, slowly.
“But you heard? She must have gone off with somebody. You know what the people think. If it is so, she must be saved at all costs.”
“Yas—of course,” said the baronet, slowly; “but—don’t think it. Poor girl, she was a lady—she couldn’t stoop to it—no—couldn’t—she’d sooner have married me.”
“Wilters,” said Tom, holding out his hand and speaking huskily, “thank you for that. We never liked one another, and I’ve been a confounded cad to you sometimes; but—but—you—you’re a gentleman, Wilters, a true gentleman.”
They shook hands in silence, and then Tom said eagerly—
“You’ll come with me?”
“Yas—no,” said the baronet, quietly. “It’s best not. All been a mistake, poor girl. I’ve been thinking about it all, and it wasn’t likely she’d care for me. Lady Barmouth is very flattering and kind; but I’ve driven your sister away.—I think I’ll go home now.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Tom, quietly.
“It’s very awkward,” continued the baronet, “things have gone so far. But I ought to have known better. Could you—a soda and brandy, Tom—this has shaken me a bit—I’m rather faint.”