‘Mr. Bolton has very kindly asked me to stay a few days at the Abbey, until I have decided what to do with Monk’s Gate, or rather until I see whether I can find some employment, which will allow me to live at Monk’s Gate, as I hope to do.’
‘Yes,’ said Nita, with a look of embarrassment; ‘but—but—I suppose I ought not to say it——’
‘If it is a personal question, Nita, to a total stranger, you ought certainly not to say it,’ here chimed in Miss Shuttleworth’s voice.
Nita blushed furiously, and Jerome said, more in the hope of annoying Miss Shuttleworth than from any other reason:
‘I am sure it is no question that is not perfectly justifiable, Miss Bolton, and therefore I promise in advance to answer it.’
‘It was not exactly a question. You speak of Monk’s Gate as your only home, and of seeking employment; but I thought you were rich, Mr. Wellfield.’
‘So did I, until a short time ago. I am just now in the process of learning completely to realise my mistake. I am a poor man, and am not quite certain that the wreck of my fortunes will leave me enough to enable me to bring my sister to Monk’s Gate, and make her a home there.’
‘Have you a sister?’ asked Nita, who kept giving him very rapid, momentary glances, her eyes leaving his face almost before they had had time to find it, which glances he met with a calm, prolonged gaze, which did not escape the steely eyes of Miss Shuttleworth.
‘I have a sister—yes.’
‘Is she with you?’