"I ought. Lena's very ill, I fear, and Mrs. Lakeman telegraphs to me every day to go and cheer them up."
"Humph!" said Sir George to himself, "trust Hilda for knowing what she's about. Well," he added, aloud, "I didn't think it was a good thing for that girl to be here in London alone, and I knew that you were due in Scotland and belonged to the Lakemans—"
"To the Lakemans?" Tom repeated, rather bewildered.
"So, when I went round to see her just now, I thought the only way out of the difficulty was—was—well, the fact is, I asked her to marry me."
"Lor'!" Tom said, and opened his blue eyes very wide. "What did she say?"
"Wouldn't look at me. Now, of course, I feel that I have made a fool of myself, and upon my life I haven't the courage to go near her again for a bit. Think I'll run over to Dieppe and shake it off. What I want to say is"—he stopped, for it suddenly occurred to him that he might be mismanaging things all round. "Something must be done about the girl, you know," he said.
Tom held out his hand.
"It's all right," he answered; "don't worry about her; I'll see that she doesn't come to grief."
Sir George looked back at him and understood. "I know you are a good boy," he said, and grasped Tom's hand, "and will do the best you can. Don't think me an old fool. I did it as much for her sake as my own. I shall come back next week and look her up again before I go to Chidhurst." And he took his departure.
But Tom stayed behind, and thought things over more seriously than was his wont. "I wish Mrs. Lakeman would be quiet, or Lena would get better. I ought to go to them, I suppose, but can't till this matter is settled." Then he went down to the theatre and fetched Margaret from her rehearsal; it was nearly three o'clock before it was over.