The weeks went on, and glided into months. Frank Pratt had been as punctual as the clock in his visits to Russell Square, but his love matters made no progress. Unless he had something to communicate affecting Tiny, Fin would hardly stay a minute. Then, too, at times, there were checks caused by the presence of Aunt Matty, when Pratt would return to his chambers disconsolate, and yet happy at having had a glimpse of the darling of his heart.
Once, when he had entered strongly into his affairs, and spoke of trying to renew his acquaintance in a straightforward way with the family—
“Because I should not be ashamed to meet Sir Hampton now,” he said.
Fin responded coolly—
“I’m afraid I hate you very much, Mr Pratt.”
“Hate me! Why?” he exclaimed.
“Because you’re so unfeeling.”
“Unfeeling?”
“You think so much of yourself, and your silly love nonsense, when poor Tiny is persecuted and tortured by that hateful Vanleigh, who only wants her money. I believe he’d ill-treat her before they’d been married a month. He looks like a wife-beater.”
“But they never persecute you,” said Pratt.