Claire seemed to be so prostrated that it was some time before he attempted to leave her, and then it was upon her urging, for she seemed at last to rouse herself to action, and with feverish haste bade him go.
“It is your duty, Fred,” she said agitatedly, “but—but don’t question him—don’t say a word to him. Only go to him as the son to the father in terrible distress. Let him speak to you if he will.”
“But his defence, girl, his defence. Something must be done, and I am without a guinea in the world.”
“Mr Barclay—Mr Linnell are arranging that without his knowledge,” said Claire. “I had forgotten to tell you, Fred: my head seems confused and strange.”
“No wonder, little one,” he said. “Ah, I like that Barclay. One never knows who are our friends until trouble comes—and young Linnell. It isn’t a time to talk about such things now, Clairy; but young Linnell’s a good fellow, and he thinks a great deal of you.”
Claire joined her hands as if begging him to be silent, and he once more kissed her, and after begging Mrs Barclay to watch over her, hurried away.