CHAPTER XXIII
EDITH MORRISTON'S STORY
Next morning Gifford was in good time at the rendezvous, a sequestered corner of the park, and Edith Morriston soon joined him. "Let us come into the summer-house," she suggested; "it will be more convenient for my long story."
"First of all, tell me," Gifford said, "has anything happened since last night? Has Henshaw made any move?"
She took out a note and handed it to him. "Only that," she said with an uneasy laugh.
"There must have been some misunderstanding last evening," Gifford read. "I cannot think that your not keeping the appointment was intentional. Anyhow I can wait till to-night, then I shall be at the lane just beyond the church at 7.30. That you may not repent I hope you have not repented." That was all.
"A thinly veiled threat," Gifford observed. "The man in his way seems as great a bully as his brother. May I keep this? I am going to see Mr. Henshaw presently, and have a serious talk with him. After which I shall hope to be able to convince you that your troubles are at an end."
"If you can do that—" she said.
"The knowledge that I have been of service to you will be my great reward. I hope I am sufficiently a gentleman not to ask or expect any other."
She made no reply. They had entered the little rustic summer-house, and sat down.