"Gone with Alice to dine at Court Netherleigh," replied Selina. "I sent an excuse: I was impatient to see you."
"Thank you, Selina!" he whispered in low, warm tones. "That is a great admission from you."
"Not to see you; but for what you might have to tell," she hastened to say. "Oscar, how vain you are!"
She sat down in the bow-window, in what remaining light there was, and he took a chair opposite to her. Then she asked him his news.
"Do you know exactly why I went up?" he inquired with some hesitation, in doubt how far he ought to speak.
"I know all," she answered pointedly. "I saw Reuben's letter to mamma; and her fears are my fears. We keep it from poor Alice."
In a hushed voice, befitting the subject and the twilight hour, Oscar related to her what he had gathered in London. The very worst impression lay on his own mind: namely, that Robert was going rapidly to the dogs, money and honour and peace, and all; nay; had already gone; but he did not make the worst of it to Selina. He said that Robert seemed to be on a downward course, and would not listen to any sort of reason.
Selina sat in dismay; her soft dark eyes fixed on the evening sky, her hands clasped on the dress of blue silk she wore. The evening star shone in the heavens.
"What will be the end of it, Oscar?"
Oscar did not immediately answer. The end of it, as he fully believed, would be ruin. Utter ruin for Robert; and that would involve ruin for his mother and sisters.