The Rev. George, missing the deference with which ladies not related to him usually received his admonitions, changed the subject.

Meanwhile, Conolly and Marian, walking more slowly than the rest, had fallen far behind.  They had been silent at first.  She seemed to be in trouble.  At last, after some wistful glances at him, she said: 

“Have you resolved to go to London to-morrow; or will you wait until Friday?”

“To-morrow, Miss Lind.  Can I do anything for you in town?”

Marian hesitated painfully.

“Do not mind giving me plenty of bother,” he said.  “I am so accustomed to superintend the transit of machines as cumbersome as trunks and as fragile as bonnet boxes, that the care of a houseful of ordinary luggage would be a mere amusement for me.”

“Thank you; but it is not that.  I was only thinking—­Are you likely to see my cousin, Mr. Marmaduke Lind, whilst you are in London?”

“N—­no.  Unless I call upon him, which I have no excuse for doing.”

“Oh!  I thought you knew him.”

“I met him at that concert.”

“But I thought you were in the habit of going about with him.  At least, I understood him one day to say that you had been to the theatre together.”

“So we were; but only once.  We went there after the concert, and I have never seen him since.”

“Oh, indeed!  I quite mistook.”

“If you have any particular reason for wishing me to see him, I will.  It will be all right if I have a message from you.  Shall I call on him?  It will be no trouble to me.”

“No, oh no.  I wanted—­it was something that could only be told to him indirectly by an intimate friend—­by some one with influence over him.  More a hint than anything else.  But it does not matter.  At least, it cannot be helped.”

Conolly did not speak until they had gone some thirty yards or so in silence.  Then he said:  “If the matter is of serious importance to you, Miss Lind, I think I can manage to have a message conveyed to him by a person who has influence over him.  I am not absolutely certain that I can; but probably I shall succeed without any great difficulty.”

Marian looked at him in some surprise.  “I hardly know what I ought to do,” she said, doubtfully.

“Then do nothing,” said Conolly bluntly.  “Or, if you want anything said to this gentleman, write to him yourself.”

“But I dont know his address, and my brother says I ought not to write to him.  I dont think I ought, either; but I want him to be told something that may prevent a great deal of unhappiness.  It seems so unfeeling to sit down quietly and say, ’It is not my business to interfere,’ when the mischief might so easily be prevented.”

“I advise you to be very cautious, Miss Lind.  Taking care of other people’s happiness is thankless and dangerous.  You dont know your cousin’s address, you say?”

“No.  I thought you did.”