“If I do, it will not be beyond my power to see to it that no slur attaches to you, or to Nell.”
“It’s Nell I’m thinking of. If we’re plunged in scandal——” He broke off, his hand clasping and unclasping.
“Good God, sir, you cannot suppose that it would make the least difference!” exclaimed John. “Are you imagining that I might cry off?”
“No: that she would!” retorted Sir Peter.
“Would she?” said John, a light in his eye. “We’ll see that!”
Sir Peter looked queerly at him, but was silent. After a minute, John got up. “I think I should leave you now, sir. There is no reason why you should trust me: I might be the shabbiest of impostors! But I wish you will be content to leave this mystery to me to solve!”
This drew a slight smile from Sir Peter. “An odd sort of an impostor! Shouldn’t have told you all this if I didn’t trust you.” He held out his hand. “It’s done me good, seeing you. You’ll take care of my girl.”
“You may be very sure of that, sir,” John said, clasping the frail hand warmly.
“Jermyn would have liked you,” said Sir Peter abruptly. “You put me a little in mind of him. He was a big fellow, too. I’m obliged to you for coming here. I shall be seeing you again. Send my man in to me, will you?”
In the dressing-room, John found Nell, talking in a low voice to the valet. She looked up, and smiled, but whispered: “You have been so long with him!”