There was a pause.
“I don’t believe anything of her but what is good and true; God bless her for a little darling—Why, Rich!”
He turned sharply, for a low moan had escaped his sister, and he found that she had sunk into a chair, and was sobbing bitterly, with her face in her hands.
“Rich darling, I did not mean it. What have I said?”
“Nothing, nothing, dear; only you—you must not leave me.”
“But Mark Heath—Ah! what a fool I am!” he cried, catching his sister in his arms. “I did not think what I was saying; and, Rich dear, hold up, I don’t believe the dear old boy is dead.”
“Hush, Hendon dear,” said Richmond, mastering her emotion; “I want—I want to talk to you about Mr Poynter.”
“Yes, all right. Sit down, dear, and I won’t be such a fool.”
“You must not leave me.”
“I won’t. I’ll stop and fight it out like a man. And as for James Poynter, I wish I hadn’t let him pay those rates.”