"It is absolutely imperative," declared the other urgently, "that I leave at the first possible moment."
"If the worst comes to the worst," said Mr. Trew, "you can ship as a stowaway. You come up on deck, third day out, and kneel at the captain's feet and sing a song about being an orphan. That, of course, would be a last resource."
Gertie discovered a telegram form, and on the instructions of Mr. Trew, filled it in; and Jim Langham assured her that he was more obliged than he could express in words. Mr. Trew left to arrange the dispatch of the message.
"I count myself extremely fortunate," said the other, "to have encountered you, Miss Higham. If you hear anything against me later on, I—I should feel grateful if you thought the best of me that you can. I wish," he went on, with an anxious air, "I wish I knew how to repay you."
"Don't make a fuss about trifles," she recommended.
He gazed at a picture of a well-attired youth smoking a cigar.
"I was a decent chap once," he said thoughtfully, "but that was long ago. Look here, Miss Higham! Henry—you know Henry?"
"I did know him." Turning her face away.
"He will be at Paddington Station tomorrow morning at ten. See him there. Put off every other engagement, and see him."
"There will be no use in doing that."