“You want to know why I said that,” she said, “Well, I’ll tell you, Percy Guest. Old women can speak pretty plainly, and I can trust you to be discreet. The fact is, my brother is one of the best men that ever breathed, and at sea he had few officers who were his equal, but on shore he is one of those men whom any clever, designing scoundrel could impose upon, and if I don’t go to them and play the dragon of watchfulness we shall be having a foreign count without a penny, or some other dreadful swindler, hoodwinking him till there is another engagement, and poor Myra driven half-mad.”
“What, after such a lesson as this has been, Miss Jerrold?”
“Of course. Poor Mark will think the best thing for Myra to do will be to marry, so as to get rid of the ambiguous position in which she is placed. Wife to a convict serving his time. Poor child, it gives me a shudder every time I think of it. There, I will not think of it any more. I’ve made my mind up, and I shall go.”
“I would,” said Guest eagerly.
“Eh? And pray why, sir?” cried the old lady sharply.
“I thought it would be better,” said Guest confusedly.
“For someone we know, eh? No, no, sir. That’s all over now. Some people had better treat their lives as schoolboys do their slates: sponge them neatly, make them clean, and begin all over again.”