"Someone—apart from her husband?"
"Yes. You see, she's only a kid and a jolly pretty one. Looks like a schoolgirl——?"
"Stay a moment." Herrick laid down his pipe. "Is Mrs. Rose a little dark girl, with very bright eyes and a lot of black hair?"
"That's she. You've met her, then?"
"Well, not exactly. Fact is, I have seen a young woman answering to that description wandering on the towing-path early in the morning once or twice; and I was a little puzzled to know who she might be."
"Well, that's Mrs. Rose. Now the fact is"—Barry grew red suddenly as he realized that his interference was quite unauthorized—"I think she wants a friend, someone to look after her a bit."
"Why? Is she ... er ... what is she?"
"She is very young." Barry spoke deliberately now, having made up his mind to proceed. "And although she is a perfect little lady in her way"—thus unconsciously endorsing Kate's verdict—"she has never been used to the sort of life she will have to lead down here. To tell the truth—I know it's safe with you, Jim—she was our typist in the office before her marriage."
"I see. And Rose fell in love with her?"
"Y ... yes." Even to Herrick, Barry could not give away the secret of Owen's proposal. "Anyway, he married her, and brought her here; and to-day I was witness to a curious little scene in her house."