“Miss Hope is right, Arthur,” said he. “She asks what kind of man my nephew is. He is a brilliant man—a fascinating man.”
“So was Colonel Burr,” said Hope Wayne, without looking up.
“Exactly, Miss Hope. You have mentioned the reason why neither you nor Amy would like my nephew.”
Hope and Amy understood. Arthur Merlin was bewildered.
“I don’t quite understand,” said he; “I am such a great fool.”
Nobody spoke.
“I am sorry for that poor little Grace Plumer,” Lawrence Newt gravely said.
“Don’t you be troubled about little Grace Plumer. She can take proper care of herself,” answered Arthur, merrily.
Hope Wayne’s busy fingers did not stop. She remembered Miss Grace Plumer, and she did not agree with Arthur Merlin. Hope did not know Grace; but she knew the voice, the manner, the magnetism to which the gay girl was exposed,
“If Mr. Godefroi Plumer is really as rich as I hear,” said Lawrence, “I think we shall have a Mrs. Abel Newt in the autumn. Poor Mrs. Abel Newt!”