Her aunt squeezed her arm sympathetically, and her uncle nodded his approval.
"Where are you going to see him?" the latter asked. "You mustn't see him alone." Then he burst out wrathfully, "He's a blackguard, and——"
"No, no, uncle, don't say that," Betty interrupted him. "Surely he is to be pitied. Remember him as he was. You cannot tell what temptations have come his way."
The parson's face cleared at once. His angry outbursts were always short-lived.
"I'm sorry, Betty," he said. "My dear, you shame me. I'm afraid that my hasty temper is always leading to my undoing as a churchman." The half-humorous smile which accompanied his words passed swiftly. "Where are you going to see him?" he again demanded.
"Down at Dave's office," the girl replied, after a moment's thought.
"Eh?" Her uncle was startled; but Mary Chepstow smiled on her encouragingly.
"Yes, you see," she went on, "Dave had a good deal to do with—our engagement—in a way, and——"
"I'm glad Dave is going to help you through this business," said her aunt, with a glance which effectually kept her husband silent. "He's a dear fellow, and—let's have our dinner—it's nearly cold."
Aunt Mary was not brilliant, she was not meddlesome, but she had all a woman's intuition. She felt that enough had been said. And for some obscure reason she was glad that Dave was to have a hand in this matter. Nor had her satisfaction anything to do with the man's ability to protect her niece from possible insult.