“I asked no questions, of course—how could I? They are quite ladies, though, in a most impecunious state.”
“Hum!” said Frank, thoughtfully, and he rose from his chair to make himself comfortable after his way; that is to say, he placed his feet in the seat, and sat on the back—treatment at which Mrs Fiddison’s modest furniture groaned. “Old lady object to this?”
Frank tapped the case of his big pipe, as he drew it from his pocket in company with a vile-scented tobacco pouch.
“Oh no, I’m licenced,” said Richard, dreamily; for his thoughts were upon his friend’s words, and he felt as if he had unwittingly been doing a great wrong.
“I’m going to take this up, Dick,” said Pratt, after smoking a few minutes in silence.
“Take what up?” said Richard, starting.
“This affair of yours, and these people.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“Perhaps not,” said Pratt, shortly. “But look here, Dick, you’re not going to break faith with some one.”
“Break faith, Frank!” exclaimed Richard, angrily. “There is no engagement now. The poor girl is free till I have made such a fortune”—he smiled bitterly—“as will enable me once more to propose. There, there, don’t say another word, Franky, old man, it cuts—deeper than you think. I wouldn’t say this much to another man living. But as for that poor child over the way, I have never had a thought towards her beyond pity.”