"I wouldn't worry about it," said Mr. Baffall, with a hand upon her shoulder. "I daresay the other one's happier as she is."
Nevertheless, Mr. Baffall was not altogether happy about the matter; he pondered over it with bent brows while he smoked his morning cigar round what he called the "estate." It ended, in fact, by his taking the cigar and the letter in the direction of the rectory, in the hope for temporal advice at least. There, without ceremony, he spread the letter before the Rev. Temple Purdue (grown a little greyer with the years, but otherwise unchanged) and indicated by a wave of the hand that it was to be read.
Mr. Purdue turned it over solemnly to find the signature; turned it back again to begin the reading of it. When he had finished he took off his spectacles, and laid them on his writing table, and looked up mildly at Mr. Baffall.
"Seems very satisfactory," he said. "Really, my dear Baffall, it is kind and thoughtful of you to have given me news of old friends like this—very kind indeed. I always had a great respect for Patience Roe—a very great respect indeed."
"That's one of the letters," said Mr. Baffall, leaning forward, and tapping it with a finger, "that wants reading between the lines. There is more in it than the mere words—and, according to Mrs. Baffall, it don't bear out what she thought when she saw the girl in London; nor, for the matter of that, does it bear out what I saw. Mr. Purdue, I've got a sneaking feeling that I should like to do something for that girl—young lady, I suppose you'd call her now; and I think that thought's in Mrs. Baffall's mind too."
Mr. Purdue looked at his visitor in some perplexity. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand," he said.
"Mr. Purdue, sir," went on Baffall solemnly, "when I was in business, if things went very wrong with me, and I didn't quite know where to turn for money or credit, what was the first thing I did?" Mr. Purdue shook his head. "Why, I made believe that I'd got more money than I knew what to do with, and was looking out for investments; or I suggested that business was so flourishing that I really couldn't entertain the idea of taking any more. That was my move—and that's the move in that letter. For all we know, they may be in Queer Street, and yet much too proud to let anybody show 'em the way out."
"You distress me greatly," said Mr. Purdue, with a sigh. "What do you suggest should be done?"
Baffall shook his head. "Whatever's done must be done delicately," he said. "If me or Mrs. B., or Alice was to go—and Alice would want the carriage—I can understand their backs would be up—and their pride would stand in the way; I was always a bit afraid of that girl myself. But if there was anybody in London—struggling a bit, perhaps, like themselves—it might be a help to the girl, for it seems to me that she must have a pretty slow time of it with that old woman."
The Rev. Temple Purdue sat silent for a few moments, thoughtfully biting the end of a pen. He looked up at last, and spoke almost apologetically. "There's Charlie," he said.