Jerry sought Alfred, whom he found alone in the library. He had been carried beyond himself that afternoon, and did not feel in the position to administer to his friend a lecture on prudence. Alfred was of full age, and, in the way of money, independent of his father. Let him do as he pleased and take his chance, as any other man must in similar circumstances. He himself, for instance, would take advice in his love affair from neither Fishery Commissioners nor John O'Hanlon.
"How far did you go?" asked Alfred, who looked flushed, radiant. He got up and began walking slowly about the room.
"Oh, a little beyond the College. It isn't a very pleasant day out of doors. We met an old flame of yours--Miss Cahill."
"Miss Cahill an old flame of mine! Why, I never was more than civil to the girl in all my life! Who invented that story for you?"
"I don't think it was pure invention. Edith mentioned it to us."
"'To us!' Good heavens, you don't mean to say she said anything of the kind in Miss Cahill's presence?"
"Well, no--not exactly in her presence, but when she was near us. How did you get on since?"
Jerry's object was to keep the conversation in his own hands, and prevent Alfred asking questions. To-morrow, when they were both clear of London, he might take his friend into his confidence, but not now.
"Oh, dully enough," answered Alfred, with a look of disappointment. "My father went out, my mother is busy about the house, and Mrs. Davenport is in her room. She will, I hope, be able to come down to dinner. You don't think, Jerry," he asked, anxiously, while he paused before his friend, "that her health has suffered by all she has gone through?"
"No; but I am quite sure your peace of mind has," replied Jerry, with a dry smile.