“You don’t think Arthur will be angry with Dawson,” said Lettice, “or,” she went on, and the idea struck Mr Auriol as very comical, “with me? I made Dawson tell me.”
An hour later Mr Auriol returned to the sitting-room, where he had left Lettice, with an open telegram in his hand.
“This is from Arthur,” he said, “or rather from ‘John Morris,’” he added, with a slight smile, as he handed it to Lettice.
“Thousand thanks. Will be with you by twelve,” was the telegram.
“I don’t think there is much fear of his being angry with anybody,” observed Mr Auriol.
“Thanks to you. It was so much better to send for him than to go there,” said Lettice impulsively.
Godfrey’s face flushed. He half turned away; then, taking courage, he came nearer again.
“Lettice,” he said, “are you not angry with me? I forgot myself. It is very good of you not to resent it.”
“Resent it!” said Lettice simply. “How could I do so? I can’t quite believe that you knew what you were saying. I think you must be so sorry for me, for all the trouble I have brought on myself and on other people, that—that—just that you are very sorry for me. For one thing,” and her voice grew very low and her face very red, “I thought you cared for Nina.”
“You, too!” he exclaimed. “How extraordinary! It is a good thing I do not, not in that way, for I should have had no chance of success. I met Philip Dexter at the Winthrops’, where I stayed a night; and—I think he would not mind my telling you—in talking together rather confidentially, I found out that he, too, has had that idea, and has been very unhappy. But I put it all right, and he’s back in London by this time. We may hear some news on our return.”