“It is very kind of you to put it in that way,” said Jocelyn. “But I should not like you to sacrifice yourself to what may be a foolish prejudice on my part.”
“It is not a foolish prejudice. Durnovo is not a gentleman either by birth or inclination. He is not fit to associate with you.”
To this Jocelyn answered nothing. Victor Durnovo was one of her brother's closest friends—a friend of his own choosing.
“Miss Gordon,” said Jack Meredith suddenly, with a gravity that was rare, “will you do me a favour?”
“I think I should like to.”
“You admit that you are afraid of Durnovo now: if at any time you have reason to be more afraid, will you make use of me? Will you write or come to me and ask my help?”
“Thank you,” she said hesitatingly.
“You see,” he went on, in a lighter tone, “I am not afraid of Durnovo. I have met Durnovos before. You may have observed that my locks no longer resemble the raven's wing. There is a little grey—just here—above the temple. I am getting on in life, and I know how to deal with Durnovos.”
“Thank you,” said the girl, with a little sigh of relief. “The feeling that I have some one to turn to will be a great relief. You see how I am placed here. The missionaries are very kind and well-meaning, but there are some things which they do not quite understand. They may be gentlemen—some of them are; but they are not men of the world. I have no definite thought or fear, and very good persons, one finds, are occasionally a little dense. Unless things are very definite, they do not understand.”
“On the other hand,” pursued Jack, in the same reflective tone, as if taking up her thought, “persons who are not good have a perception of the indefinite. I did not think of it in that light before.”