She opened her handbag, and took out her handkerchief. Having blown her nose with considerable violence, she said in a choked voice: "You're so incredibly nice! Your brother practically told me I was a filthy cad not to confide in you, and I suppose he was right."
"The only thing that deters me from instantly bursting off to offer Jim his choice between pistols and swords is my conviction that he never said anything of the sort," returned Timothy.
"Oh, he didn't say it in so many words, but that was what he meant! Well, here it is! - I'm a gaol-bird!"
The effect of this pronouncement was not quite what she had expected. She had been prepared to see Mr.. Harte make a chivalrous attempt to conceal his feelings; she had been prepared to see him recoil. What she had never visualised was that he would sink into a chair by the desk, drop his head in his hand, and utter in shaken accents: "But what a line! No, really, darling, it's terrific!"
"It's true!" she said desperately.
"Oh, no, I can't bear it! What did they jug you for, my sweet? Manslaughter, due to furious driving?"
"Forgery and embezzlement!" she shot at him.
That made him raise his head. He looked at her for a moment, and held out his hand. Almost without meaning to, she put one of her own hands into it. He pulled her down on to his knee. "My poor precious! Tell me all about it, then!" he said.
Instead of obeying this injunction, Beulah subsided on to his chest, and cried and cried. Mr.. Harte very wisely confined his remarks to such soothing utterances as Never mind! and There, there! at the same time rubbing his cheek against her already tousled locks, and patting her in a comforting way. This very sensible treatment presently had its effect: Beulah stopped weeping, and said in an exhausted whisper: "I didn't do it! I didn't do it, Timothy!"
"Look, ducky, don't start me off again!" begged Mr.. Harte. "You don't have to tell me that! Who on earth did you have to defend you?"