“Oh no, thank you,” said Lettice. “I could tell you just as well. The trouble is about—my brother.”
“Your brother—Arthur? God forbid!” he exclaimed. “Is it anything very serious?”
“I fear so, but I don’t know,” she replied, shaking her head. And at the moment it did not strike her, so impressed was she with the magnitude of her overwhelming anxiety, how curious it was that a complete stranger should be so affected by her troubles! Yet his naming her brother by name caught her attention. “You know about us. I suppose from Mr Auriol?” she said.
“Yes,” he replied, but in an absent way.
And still Lettice sat gazing before her, as if she were half-stunned. Then suddenly, raising her eyes—
“Arthur has run away,” she said. “At least, he has gone away. He wrote that he would try to go to America, but we were afraid, Nina and I—we got his letter last night, and I came off by the first train this morning. Nina and Miss Branksome wanted me to wait and to telegraph first, so I came away without telling them. I could not bear waiting—we were afraid that he might have fallen ill somewhere. He has not been well lately, and the shock of his disgrace—”
“Disgrace! What disgrace?” exclaimed the gentleman.
“He has failed—at least, he saw that he was going to fail—in his examination, and he would not face the rest of it,” said Lettice, the crimson rising to her face.
The stranger could hardly repress a smile.
“But why use such terribly strong words about it? Failing in his examination a disgrace! You startled me,” he said with evident and immense relief.