"But not to-night," urged Nevill. "Come, sit down."
Stephen Foster yielded to the solicitation of his companion, and went back to his chair. He mixed a whisky and soda, and drank half of it.
"I forget," he muttered, "that my little Madge has grown to womanhood. Her very innocence would make her an easy prey to some unscrupulous scoundrel. I must speak to her, Nevill."
"Yes, by all means."
"And why not to-night?"
"Need you ask? Would not Madge know at once that it was I who told you? And what, then, would be my chance of winning her?"
"It couldn't be any poorer than it is now," thought Stephen Foster. "Did she see you yesterday?" he said aloud.
"No, by good luck she did not—at least I feel pretty sure of it. A jolly good thing, too, for Vernon recognized me and nodded to me. But whether Madge saw me or not won't make much difference under present circumstances. If you go downstairs now and start a row with her, she will be sure to suspect that you received your information from me."
"Quite likely. What do you want me to do?"
"Wait until to-morrow evening, when you return from town. Then tell her that some stock-broking friend of yours in the city saw her near Richmond station."