"Who--who is this lady?"
"I don't know that it is a secret; the lady is Sarah Freemantle."
"Sarah Freemantle!"
"She is staying in Brighton, you know--or perhaps you don't know--because she has actually gone and hidden herself away in one of the back streets, as if, as I tell her, she were hiding from her creditors. Her creditors! Why, she's worth untold millions!"
Mr Coventry was silent. Mrs Murphy sat and watched him. He was quite worth looking at. George Coventry has been pronounced by a high authority to be the handsomest man in England. Oddly enough, he was not only handsome, but he looked good and honest too; and he was without an atom of conceit. In the eyes of some people it was an extra recommendation that he was not exactly wise.
When Mrs Murphy had looked at the young gentleman quite two minutes, she moved up to his end of the carriage.
"Mr Coventry, here is your property. You are fortunate in having such a friend."
Without a word Mr Coventry placed the cheque and the notes within his pocket-book.
"After all, I am not sure that I would not have liked to have been that friend myself."
Mr Coventry fidgeted.