“You know all about their troubles, then—their loss of money?” asked Hebe, with some surprise.
“Yes, I heard it when I went down there. And then I saw them. They have left Pinnerton; they are living at Blissmore. They—no, I hate talking about it—they’ve actually joined that funny old milliner there; they are working for their daily bread.”
Hebe gasped.
“Is it so bad as that?” she said. “But how splendid of them, how brave, and oh how horrid I must have seemed! Oh Archie, could you explain about me if you see them again? I can’t write myself, and there is really no one I can ask to do so, especially now, after what you’ve told me.”
“Certainly I can do so,” replied Archie briskly. “Nothing can be easier. I will make a point of seeing Miss Derwent as soon as possible.”
“Thank you very much,” said Hebe, but some amount of reservation crept into her tone; something in Archie’s voice and manner struck her, and revived her former misgivings.
“It was thoughtless of me to propose it,” she said to herself. “Archie,” she began again, “I—”
“No,” interrupted Mr Dunstan, with some impatience. “Don’t ask me anything, Hebe, for if you do, I can’t answer. You blamed me before undeservedly, and I deserve it still less now.”
His words startled Hebe still more. She looked very grave.
“I didn’t blame you, Archie,” she said. “I only wanted you to be careful. You have always treated some things so lightly, it makes it difficult to believe you could be in earnest. And in this case—under the circumstances”—She did not like to say what was in her mind—that serious attentions on the part of the rich and much-made-of Archie Dunstan to Blanche Derwent, however charming personally, would appear in the eyes of the world highly improbable. Doubly so considering the change in the latter’s position. “I mean,” she went on hesitatingly, “you must be very careful.”