She was silent for a while.
"Perhaps I have known, Jack, that it was a little unusual. Other girls haven't got a Jack Dunquerque, have they? Poor things! That is all you mean, isn't it, Jack?"
"Phil, don't look at me like that! You don't know—you can't understand—No; it is more than unusual; it is quite wrong."
"I have done nothing wrong," the girl said proudly. "If I had, my conscience would make me unhappy. But I do begin to understand what you mean. Last week Agatha asked me if I was not thinking too much about you. And the curate made me laugh because he said, quite by himself in a corner, you know, that Mr. Dunquerque was a happy man; and when I asked him, why he turned very red, and said it was because I had given to him what all the world would long to have. He meant, Jack——"
"I wish he was here," Jack cried hotly, "for me to wring his neck!"
"And one day Laura Herries——"
"That's the girl who said you were farouche, Phil. Go on."
"Was talking to Agatha about some young lady who had got compromised by a gentleman's attentions. I asked why, and she replied quite sharply that if I did not know, no one could know. Then she got up and went away. Agatha was angry about it, I could see; but she only said something about understanding when I come out."
"Miss Herries ought to have her neck wrung, too, as well as the curate," said Jack.
"Compromise—improper." Phil beat her little foot on the floor. "What does it all mean? Jack, tell me—what is this wrong thing that you and I have done?"