“Hugh, I can’t make her out; it worries me and puzzles me and—and hurts me. She is so different, she takes me up so sharply. I—I know I am a fool, I know I am not fit to touch her little hand. I know that I am not a man—like you, a man a girl could look up to and respect, but I’ve always loved her, Hugh, and I’ve kept straight. There are things I might have done and didn’t do—for her sake. I just thought of her, Hugh, and so—so I’ve lived a decent life!” Hugh’s eyes kindled, for he knew that what the boy said was truth. Thursday afternoon saw Hugh back at Hurst Dormer. It was a week now since he had left Starden. She had asked him to leave, and he had left, yet not exactly for that reason. His coming here had done no good, had only given him fresh worry and anxiety, and now he realised that all his sympathy was for Tom and not for Marjorie. “Oh, my Lord! Uncertain, coy and hard to please is correct, and I suppose some of them can be ministering angels—yes, God bless them! I’ve seen them!” His face softened, his thoughts flew back to other days, days of strife and bloodshed, of misery and death, days when men lay helpless and in pain, and in memory Hugh saw the gentle, soft-footed girls at their work of mercy. Ministering angels—God’s own! “Mrs. Morrisey, I am going to London.” “Very good, sir!” Mrs. Morrisey was giving up all hopes of this restless young master of hers. “Very good, sir!” “I shall be back”—he paused—“eventually, if not sooner!” “Certainly, sir!” said Mrs. Morrisey, who had no sense of humour. “Meanwhile, send on any letters to the Northborough Hotel. I shall catch the seven-thirty,” said Hugh. “I’ll order the car round, sir,” said Mrs. Morrisey. And this very day at Starden pride broke down; the need was so great. It was not the money that the man demanded, but the bonds that paying it would forge about her, bind her for all time. “Please come to me here. I want your help. I am in great trouble, and there is no one I can turn to but you. “JOAN.” And not till after the letter was in the post did she remember that she had signed it with her Christian name only. CHAPTER XXXV CONNIE DECLARES “My dear Connie!” Helen Everard was amazed. “My dear Connie, why talk such nonsense? This marriage between Joan and Johnny is the best, the very best possible thing in the world for him. Joan is—” “I know all she is, Helen,” said Connie; “no one knows better than I do. I know she is lovely; she is good, she is rich, and she is cold—cold to Johnny. She doesn’t love him; and I love him, Helen, and I hate to think that Johnny should give his life to a woman who does not care for him!” Helen shrugged her shoulders. “Sometimes, Connie with her queer unworldly notions annoys me,” she thought. “At any rate, dear child, it is all arranged, and whatever you and I say will not matter in the least. But, all the same, I am sorry you are opposed to the marriage.” “I am!” said Connie briefly.