“Then,” he cried in despair, “there is nothing left for me but to hold the bottle. Let’s change the subject before you tell me I may not do that!”
They had passed, soon after leaving the concert, the Craighill house, whose lights flashed at them through the bare trees, and were now drawing close to the Blairs’. She grew suddenly silent, then stopped abruptly.
“I don’t believe I’ll go to see your sister now—it’s so late. I’ll telephone her that I’m not coming.”
“You’re afraid my sister won’t like your coming with me, isn’t that it?”
“No, I’m not afraid of your sister—she’s been kinder to me than anyone else ever was——”
“But you don’t think you ought to go to her house with me. I would have you know that my sister thinks rather well of me!”
“I must not do anything she would dislike,” persisted the girl.
“You think she wouldn’t like your going there with me? I could leave you at the gate!”
They had resumed their walk to avoid the appearance of dallying. He had no wish to jeopardize the girl’s relations with his sister; but it was pleasant to talk to her; he had never known just this kind of girl before. Her poverty, her ignorance, her ambitions interested him and set her apart. It had never been his way to hide his iniquities; he was persuaded that he meant her no harm and he rebelled against the thought that there were reasons why she should not be seen with him. His own sister had expressed this clearly enough and he did not know what Fanny would say to him—one never knew about Fanny!—and the hope that his sister would seat Jean Morley and himself at her dinner table only rose to fade. Fanny was capable of it, but she was capable, also, of scolding him sharply before the girl and sending him out of the house.
“Mrs. Blair has a right to question anything I do. She is doing a great many beautiful things for me.”