"Then it appears that nobody but this brute has any claim upon you?"
"As far as I know, nobody at all."
"They would not run much risk in keeping you," said Felix, his brows knit in thought.
"I expect that was what Mr. Vanston was thinking of when he asked if I had ever been abroad," remarked Rona. "Suppose they should let me go abroad to be educated?"
"You would like that?"
She assented. "I want to see the world," she announced, very simply.
Felix smiled at the thought of Denzil's benevolence. He knew of old his pleasure in a certain tepid, but always well-meant philanthropy. The resentment and hatred of his half-brother, which for years back had filled his heart, seemed to him a thing to be ashamed of, now that, in love's light, he saw his own career with new eyes. He pitied Denzil, in an impersonal kind of way, for having such an unsatisfactory brother. No wonder they never spoke of him—the scapegrace for whom the old honorable family must blush when his name was mentioned.
And then came an idea which caused him to smile to himself. What would Denzil say, did he know that he was befriending that same scapegrace brother's future wife? He had no scruple in the feeling that money was being expended for such a purpose. But it reminded him of another matter.
"Listen, Rona," he said. "I shall send you money whenever I can. At first it will not be much. But as soon as I am in regular work, I should like to send you enough to buy your own clothes, and so on—so that you should not be beholden to these good people for absolutely everything. I have brought you half a sovereign to-day, just for pocket-money, and I shall send more at the first opportunity. That will make me feel as if you were real—as if, one day, you really would belong to me."
As he spoke, the church clock chimed a quarter to eight. In ten minutes, folks would be coming out of church. Their enchanted interview was almost over.