"What on earth brings you to London?" I asked.
"Sonia. I gathered from George ... I say, something's got to be done, you know."
He stood with his eyes open and set on me, his lips parted to shew a gleam of white, and one hand mopping his coat, more, I think, for distraction than in any hope of drying it.
"I don't quite know what you think you can do," I said dubiously.
"If she's awake——" he began eagerly.
"You'd frighten her out of her wits," I interrupted. "And you can ask Lady Loring, if you don't believe me. What you can do—to-morrow morning,—is to let it be known that you've come up—to lunch with a man or collect some books—and, if she'd care to see you, she can. But I think you've rather acted on an impulse, you know."
"I couldn't stay down at Melton, if there was anything I could do by coming up."
"I'm afraid that you'll find that there isn't."
His underlip curled obstinately.