“What do you mean by wrong?”

“I should call it very wrong—­hideously wrong—­if, after all that has passed between you, there should now be any doubt as to your affection for each other.  If such doubt were now to arise with her, I should almost disown my sister.”

“You will never have to blush for her.”

“I think not.  I thank God that hitherto there have been no such blushes among us.  And I hope, Harry, that my heart may never have to bleed for her.  Come, Harry, let me tell you all at once like an honest man.  I hate subterfuges and secrets.  A report has reached the old people at home—­not Florence, mind—­that you are untrue to Florence, and are passing your time with that lady who is the sister of your cousin’s wife.”

“What right have they to ask how I pass my time?”

“Do not be unjust, Harry.  If you simply tell me that your visits to that lady imply no evil to my sister, I, knowing you to be a gentleman, will take your word for all that it can mean.”  He paused, and Harry hesitated, and could not answer.  “Nay, dear friend—­brother as we both of us have thought you—­come once more to Onslow Crescent and kiss the bairns, and kiss Cecilia, too, and sit with us at our table, and talk as you used to do, and I will ask no further question; nor will she.  Then you will come back here to your work, and your trouble will be gone, and your mind will be at ease; and, Harry, one of the best girls that ever gave her heart into a man’s keeping will be there to worship you, and to swear when your back is turned that any one who says a word against you shall be no brother, and no sister, and no friend of hers.”

And this was the man who had dusted his boots with his pocket-handkerchief and whom Harry had regarded as being, on that account, hardly fit to be his friend!  He knew that the man was noble, and good, and generous, and true; and knew also that in all that Burton said he simply did his duty as a brother.  But not on that account was it the easier for him to reply.

“Say that you will come to us this evening,” said Burton.  “Even if you have an engagement, put it off.”

“I have none,” said Harry.

“Then say that you will come to us, and all will be well.”

Harry understood of course that his compliance with this invitation would be taken as implying that all was right.  It would be so easy to accept the invitation, and any other answer was so difficult!  But yet he would not bring himself to tell the lie.

“Burton,” he said, “I am in trouble.”

“What is the trouble?” The man’s voice was now changed, and so was the glance of his eye.  There was no expression of anger—­none as yet; but the sweetness of his countenance was gone—­a sweetness that was unusual to him, but which still was at his command when he needed it.

“I cannot tell you all here.  If you will let me come to you this evening I will tell you everything—­you and to Cecilia too.  Will you let me come?”