A subtle point, hard for a boy to get. There were things you hired servants to do, detectives and that sort of persons, whose business it was. But you wouldn't do these things yourself; your dignity was offended by the very thought of doing them. Lanny had stepped out of his class as a gentleman.
Robbie stood staring at the piece of fashionable stationery, addressed in a lady's handwriting; and the boy's unhappiness grew. “I honestly thought I'd be helping you,” he pleaded.
The father said: “Yes, I know, of course. But you made a mistake.”
Another pause, and Robbie inquired: “Do you know if Zaharoff has come back to the hotel?” When Lanny answered that he had, the father said: “I think you must take this letter to him.”
“Take it, Robbie?”
“Tell him how you got it, and apologize.”
“But, Robbie, how awful! What excuse can I give?”
“Don't give any excuse. Tell him the facts.”
“Shall I tell him who I am?”
“That's a fact, isn't it?”