“Of course he will know.”

“Tell him what I say, all the same; and tell him that as I have hitherto had cause to be grateful to him for his kindness, so also I hope he will not put an end to that feeling by anything now, that would not be kind.  If there be papers of Lord Ongar’s, he can take them either to my lawyers, if that be fit, or to those of the family.  You can tell him that, can you not?”

“Oh, yes; I can tell him.”

“And have you any objection?”

“None for myself.  But would it not come better from some one else?”

“Because you are a young man, you mean?  Whom else can I trust, Harry?  To whom can I go?  Would you have me to ask Hugh to do this?  Or, would Archie Clavering be a proper messenger?  Whom else have I?”

“Would not his sister be better?”

“How should I know that she had told him?  She would tell him her own story—­what she herself wished.  And whatever story she told, he would not believe it.  They know each other better than you and I know them.  It must be you, Harry, if you will do it.”

“Of course I will.  I will try to-morrow.  Where does he live?”

“How should I know?  Perhaps nobody knows; no one, perhaps, of all those with whom he associates constantly.  They do not live after our fashion, do they, these foreigners?  But you will find him at his club, or hear of him at the house in Mount Street.  You will do it; eh, Harry?”

“I will.”

“That is my good Harry.  But I suppose you would do anything I asked you.  Ah, well; it is good to have one friend, if one has no more.  Look, Harry! if it is not near eleven o’clock!  Did you know that you had been here nearly three hours?  And I have given you nothing but a cup of tea!”

“What else do you think I have wanted?”

“At your club you would have had cigars and brandy-and-water, and billiards, and broiled bones, and oysters, and tankards of beer.  I know all about it.  You have been very patient with me.  If you go quick perhaps you will not be too late for the tankards and the oysters.”

“I never have any tankards or any oysters.”

“Then it is cigars and brandy-and-water.  Go quick, and perhaps you may not be too late.”

“I will go, but not there.  I cannot change my thoughts so suddenly.”

“Go, then; and do not change your thoughts.  Go and think of me, and pity me.  Pity me for what I have got, but pity me most for what I have lost.”  Harry silently took her hand, and kissed it, and then left her.

Pity her for what she had lost!  What had she lost!  What did she mean by that?  He knew well what she meant by pitying her for what she had got.  What had she lost?  She had lost him.  Did she intend to evoke his pity for that loss?  She had lost him.  Yes, indeed.  Whether or no the loss was one to regret, he would not say to himself; or rather, he, of course, declared that it was not; but such as it was, it had been incurred.  He was now the property of Florence Burton, and, whatever happened, he would be true to her.