“No, don’t go, Mr Ridgeway,” she exclaimed concernedly. “As children, you and I often played at being lovers. When I was a child you were like a big brother, and I confess I then admired you. I regard you now as Jack’s firm and sincerest friend—as my own friend.”
“I am gratified by your esteem,” I said; “that you both may be happy is my heartfelt desire. If I can be of any assistance to Jack or to yourself, command me.”
“We—we may want assistance,” she said. Then she paused, plainly stopped by the beating of her heart, for her breast rose and fell convulsively as tears forced themselves up to her long eyelashes.
Bethune was leaning over her. The light of those brown eyes, seen through the bright brimming tears, affected him in a manner strange and touching.
“If we ask Stuart to help us I know he will do all in his power,” he assured her. “Ours must be a secret marriage if her ladyship will not consent. Do you trust me?”
“Implicitly, Jack. I trust you because—because I love you.”
“Then after all I have no need to be jealous of Gilbert Sternroyd,” the soldier-novelist said smiling.
“Gilbert Sternroyd!” I cried amazed. “Who is Gilbert Sternroyd?”
“Dora will answer your question,” my friend replied.
I looked eagerly at her, and her eyes met mine with a look full of surprise and mild reproach.