"Then it's so much less time wasted. Don't stretch out your hand to the worse when it may some day grasp the better," Peter continued. Mrs. Rooth raised her eyes at him as if recognising the force there might be in that, and he added: "Let her blaze out, let her look about her. Then you may talk to me if you like."
"It's very puzzling!" the old woman artlessly sighed.
He laughed again and then said: "Now don't tell me I'm not a good friend."
"You are indeed—you're a very noble gentleman. That's just why a quiet life with you——"
"It wouldn't be quiet for me!" he broke in. "And that's not what Miriam was made for."
"Don't say that for my precious one!" Mrs. Rooth quavered.
"Go to London—go to London," her visitor repeated.
Thoughtfully, after an instant, she extended her hand and took from the table the letter on the composition of which he had found her engaged. Then with a quick movement she tore it up. "That's what Mr. Dashwood says."
"Mr. Dashwood?"
"I forgot you don't know him. He's the brother of that lady we met the day you were so good as to receive us; the one who was so kind to us—Mrs. Lovick."