Longcluse sighed, looked down thoughtfully, and then, raising his eyes again, he said—
“You must answer me another question, dear Arden, and I shall, for the present, task your kindness no more. If you think it a fair question, will you promise to answer me with unsparing frankness? Let me hear the worst.”
“Certainly,” answered his companion.
“Does your sister like anyone in particular—is she attached to anyone—are her affections quite disengaged?”
“So far as I am aware, certainly. She never cared for any one among all the people who admired her, and I am quite certain such a thing could not be without my observing it,” answered Richard Arden.
“I don't know; perhaps not,” said Longcluse. “But there is a young friend of yours, who I thought was an admirer of Miss Arden's, and possibly a favoured one. You guess, I daresay, who it is I mean?”
“I give you my honour I have not the least idea.”
“I mean an early friend of yours—a man about your own age—who has often been staying in Yorkshire and at Mortlake with you, and who was almost like a brother in your house—very intimate.”
“Surely you can't mean Vivian Darnley?” exclaimed Richard Arden.
“I do. I mean no other.”