'Stay another day,' said Mr. Loftus. 'Mrs. Gresley tells me that the sight of her happy home, and Mr. Gresley, and the church-tower as viewed from the spare bedroom of the Vicarage, have proved a turning-point in the lives of many wild young men. Stay another day, Doll, and I will emulate Mrs. Gresley. It will do you good.'
'Uncle George,' stammered the young man with sudden anger, 'will you never, never understand? Have you forgotten that it is not a year ago since I told you—in this very room—and you said you would help me. I can't meet Sibyl; and—and she is coming back to-day. I tried in the winter, and—it was a failure.'
Mr. Loftus had momentarily forgotten Sibyl, as he had done once before when she was ill.
'I beg your pardon, Doll,' he said, his pale face reddening. 'I ought to have remembered.'
There was a constrained silence.
'It need not come between us,' said Mr. Loftus at last. 'You must not let it do that.'
'I can't help it,' said Doll. 'It does. It must.'
'Sibyl's happiness,' said Mr. Loftus sadly, 'seems to be a costly article. A great deal has been spent upon it, apparently without making it secure. If we have any real regard for her, we must manage to save that between us, Doll, whatever else goes by the board.'