"As for that boy, Harry Goslett" (Bunker uttered the name with an obvious effort)—"he's further gone than all the rest put together. If it wasn't for her, he would go back to where he came from."
"Ah! and where is that?"
"Don't you know, then? You, the man who took him away? Don't you know where he came from? Was it something very bad?"
There was a look of eager malignity about the man's face—he wanted to hear something bad about his nephew.
Lord Jocelyn encouraged him.
"Perhaps I know—perhaps I do not."
"A disgraceful story, no doubt," said Bunker, with a pleased smile. "I dreaded the worst when I saw him with his white hands, and his sneerin', fleerin' ways. I thought of Newgate and jailbirds—I did, indeed, at once. O prophetic soul! Well, now we know the worst, and you had better take him away before all the world knows it. I shan't talk, of course."
"Thank you, Mr. Bunker; and about this Miss Kennedy, is there anything against her except that the men fall in love with her?"
"There is plenty against her; but I'm not the man to take away a woman's character. Reports are about her that would astonish you. If all secrets were known, we should find what a viper we've been cherishing. At the end of her year, out she goes of my 'ouse—bag and baggage, she goes; and wherever she goes, that boy'll go after her unless you prevent it."
"Thank you again, Mr. Bunker. Good-morning."