“I do not altogether hold with him,” said Jingles. “He takes too commercial an aspect of the mission imposed on a man with his power and faculties for reaching the ear of the people.”
“Do you intend to live with him?”
“I cannot tell. I have decided on nothing as to the particulars. I have sketched out the broad features of my future career.”
“And,”—Arminell’s voice faltered—“my father?”
“I will write to him after I am in town, informing him that I know all, and that, therefore, it was not possible for me, with self-respect, to remain in his house.”
Arminell looked down on the gravel.
“You will not go into this matter, not have my mother’s name brought in question?”
“I will do nothing that can cause you a moment’s pain,” answered Jingles patronisingly.
“I shall be very solitary,” she said. “More so than before. With you I can talk about matters of real interest, matters above the twaddle of common talk—Yes?”
This was addressed to the footman who appeared on the terrace and approached.