“Yes, I knew I had made anything of that kind all but impossible, but you are not to thank me. It made me only too happy to have an opportunity of being of any use—of relieving any anxiety.”
Longcluse sighed.
“You have placed me, I know, under a great obligation, and if every one felt it as I do, you would have been thanked as you deserved before now.”
A little silence followed.
“How is Miss Arden?” asked he in a low tone, and hardly raising his eyes.
“Pretty well,” she answered, a little dryly. “She's not very wise, I think, in planning to shut herself up so entirely in that melancholy place, Mortlake. You have seen it?”
“Yes, more than once,” he answered.
Lady May appeared more embarrassed as Mr. Longcluse grew less so. They became silent again. Mr. Longcluse was the first to speak, which he did a little hesitatingly.
“I was going to say that I hoped Miss Arden was not vexed at my having ventured to interfere as I did.”
“Oh! about that, of course there ought to be, as I said, but one opinion; but you know she is not herself just now, and I shall have, perhaps, something to tell by-and-by; and, to say truth—you won't be vexed, but I'm sorry I undertook to speak to her, for on that point I really don't quite understand her; and I am a little vexed—and—I'll talk to you more another time. I'm obliged to keep an appointment just now, and the carriage,” she added, glancing at the pendule on the bracket close by, “will be at the door in two or three minutes; so I must do a very ungracious thing, and say good-bye; and you must come again very soon—come to luncheon to-morrow—you must, really; I won't let you off, I assure you; there are two or three people coming to see me, whom I think you would like to meet.”