“All right,” he replied pleasantly, bewildered and almost inclined to laugh.
She said in a low, tense voice.
“I’m really in trouble, Garry. I told you once that the word was not in my vocabulary.... I’ve had to include it.”
“I’m so sorry! Tell me all about——”
He checked himself: she turned to Westmore—a deeper flush came into her cheeks—then she said gravely:
“I scarcely know Mr. Westmore, but if he is like you, Garry—your sort—perhaps he——”
“He’d do anything for you, Thessa, if you’ll let him. Have you confidence in me?”
“You know I have.”
“Then you can have the same confidence in Jim. I suggest it because I have a hazy idea what your trouble is. And if you came to ask advice, then I think that you’ll get double value if you include Jim Westmore in your confidence.”
She stood silent and with heightened colour for a moment, then her expression became humorous, and, partly turning, she put out her gloved hand behind her and took hold of Westmore’s sleeve. It was at once an appeal and an impulsive admission of her confidence in this young man whom she had liked from the beginning, and who must be trustworthy because he was the friend of Garret Barres.