Gertrude was of the same way of thinking. Only the lawyer made a hearty breakfast hastily, and then started for town. "No, no, don't you ladies move," he said. "Finish your breakfasts. Apologise to George Harrington for me. Back in good time." He did not realise that the other occupants of the breakfast-table had been forcing themselves to swallow a few morsels, so as to keep up appearances; and as the door closed their eyes met, and Gertrude could contain herself no longer, but burst into a passion of tears. "Hush, hush, my darling?" whispered Mrs Hampton, taking her to her breast. "Don't take on about it. There, there, there; I want to play a mother's part to you, and I'm only a clumsy imitation; but, indeed, Gertie, I want to advise you for the best." "Yes, I know you do," whispered the poor girl, as she struggled hard to be composed. "But tell me you don't think there is any reason for George being so late." For answer Mrs Hampton kissed her on the brow. "You do not speak. It is cruel of you to be silent." "Do you wish me to speak out?" "Yes, even if I do not agree with you," cried Gertrude, flushing up as if ready to defend her betrothed. "Then, my dear, I do." "Tell me--what?" "I am George Harrington's guest, Gertrude; then I am the trusty friend of the girl I have known and loved ever since she was a child." "Yes, yes, indeed you are; I know that; only you are so bitter against George." "Gertie, my dear," said the old lady, leading her to the couch and sitting down with old Harrington's face seeming to smile down upon them, "if I feel bitter against George Harrington it is from love for you." "Yes, yes; but try not to be unjust. Think of the life he has been forced to lead." "I can think only of my little girl's life that she will have to lead." "Why do you speak like this?" panted Gertrude, who looked like some frightened bird, ready to struggle to escape. "I may be hard and unjust, my child, but I judge by what I see." "See! What have you seen this morning?" "I have been in the study. It smells as a room does where men have passed the night drinking." "But after the change--after the promises." "The whiskey decanter was empty. I know it was full yesterday morning, for I saw Mrs Denton carry it in." "Ah!" sighed Gertrude. "And this morning the man you have promised to marry is lying in a drunken sleep." "You do not know that," cried Gertrude excitedly. "I know enough to make me say once more--Gertrude, I am a childless old woman, and I love you as Mr Hampton loves you in his peculiar way, which is a good deal like mine--rough and clumsy, but very honest and true." "Dearest Mrs Hampton!" cried Gertrude, throwing her arms about the old lady's neck; "as if I did not know how good, and kind, and loving you have always been." "Then listen to me once more, my darling, before it is too late. I do not look like the sort of woman who can talk about love, but I can, and I know what love is."