“Oh yes; but, my dear child, you who are as fresh as a little lily-of-the-valley, what could you say to her? Why, she is a heartless woman of fashion, proud as a female Lucifer, and you would only be exposing yourself to insult.”
“She would injure herself more than me,” replied Cornel. Then, after they had walked a few yards in silence, she turned to her companion.
“Mr Pacey, you are Armstrong’s most trusted friend?”
“I was once, but that’s over now.”
“No; true friends do not leave those they love when they are in their sorest need. I must—I will save Armstrong from this woman’s toils. He has ceased to love me, but I cannot, when a word might save him, keep back that word. Take me to this lady’s home.”
“But, my dear Miss Thorpe—”
“I have known you for over a year, Mr Pacey, though we only met to-day for the first time.”
“Yes; and I’ve known you, my dear,” said Pacey, “though he never half did you justice.”
“Then I am Cornel Thorpe to you. Now listen: we must save him.”
“But—”