Mr. Rivenhall said nothing, nor did he cast him more than one of his penetrating glances, but Sophy turned and held out her hand. “Yes, pray come in, Hubert!” she said, smiling at him.
He took her hand, and pressed it a little convulsively. “Cecilia told me about your earrings, and all the kickup — Sophy, was it that? For if it was, and indeed, in any event I can’t and I won’t stand it! I had rather by far tell Charles the whole!”
Her hand returned the pressure of his before releasing it. She said in her calm way, “Well, you know, Hubert, I always thought you made a mistake not to tell Charles, for Mr. Wychbold told me once that there was no one he would liefer go to in a fix. And if he could trust him, how much more reason must you have to do so! I am persuaded you will do much better without me, so I will leave you.”
She did not look at Mr. Rivenhall to see what effect her words might have had on him but walked immediately out of the room.
There had been an effect; Mr. Rivenhall said quietly, “I think I know what it is, but tell me. Newmarket?”
“It is worse than that! Oh, yes, I lost at Newmarket, but that’s the least part of it!” Hubert said.
Mr. Rivenhall nodded to a chair. “Sit down. What’s the worst part of it?”
Hubert did not avail himself of this invitation. Apprehension made him assume a belligerent tone that in no way expressed his feelings. “You may as well know that I didn’t tell you the whole of my debts, last year!”
“Young fool!” commented his brother, without heat.
“I know that, but you said — Oh, well, it doesn’t signify talking of that now!”