"But Captain Carey—" I began.
"There! not a word!" she interrupted imperatively. "Tell me all about that wretch, Richard Foster. How did you come across him? Is he likely to die? Is he any thing like Kate Daltrey?—I will never call her Kate Dobrée as long as the world lasts. Come, Martin, tell me every thing about him."
She sat with me most of the morning, talking with animated perseverance, and at last prevailed upon me to take her a walk in Hyde Park. Her pertinacity did me good in spite of the irritation it caused me. When her dinner-hour was at hand I felt bound to attend her to her house in Hanover Street; and I could not get away from her without first speaking to Julia. Her face was very sorrowful, and her manner sympathetic. We said only a few words to one another, but I went away with the impression that her heart was still with me.
CHAPTER THE FORTIETH.
A TORMENTING DOUBT.
At dinner Jack announced his intention of paying a visit to Richard Foster.
"You are not fit to deal with the fellow," he said; "you may be sharp enough upon your own black sheep in Guernsey, but you know nothing of the breed here. Now, if I see him, I will squeeze out of him every mortal thing he knows about Olivia. Where did those papers come from?"
"There was no place given," I answered.