“Is it quite fair, Mr. Newt?”
“Mrs. Simcoe,” he replied, inquiringly.
His firm, low voice reassured her.
“Why do you come here so often?” asked she.
“To help Miss Hope.”
“Is it necessary that you should come?”
“She wishes it.”
“Why?”
He paused a moment. Mrs. Simcoe continued:
“Lawrence Newt, at least let us be candid with each other. By the memory of the dead—by the common sorrow we have known, there should be no cloud between us about Hope Wayne. I use your own words. Tell me what you feel as frankly as you feel it.”