Milly’s hand was held out too, though more timidly. She did not say anything, but she looked a great deal more than Grace had said, he thought. He had risen too in a tremulous state of excitement and generous enthusiasm. It was only his left hand that he had to give to the younger sister, but even in that fact there seemed to both of them something special--a closer approach. “I do not know what to say,” he said, “dear, brave, generous girls! To have you will be worth a great deal more than the money. We are friends for ever, whatever may come of it.” Then he kissed first one hand and then the other with quivering lips, the girls, blushing both, drawing close to each other, abashed, yet touched beyond description with a kind of sacred joy and awe. The emotion was exquisite, novel beyond anything in their experience; and the young man, thus suddenly bound to them, was as much affected as they. “But we cannot accept this, all the same,” he said at last. “I should say all the less:--it must be investigated, and everything found out that can be found out.” “We do not wish it; we will not have it,” the girls cried both together. But Geoffrey shook his head. “You have nobody else to look after your interests. I am your next friend,” he said. “Don’t you know that is how we do in English law? Those who are too young or too helpless to plead for themselves plead by their next friend. And that is the most fit office for me.” “Then that makes England a little like what we thought it: not like the cruel, cruel place,” cried Grace, “that it has been to Milly and me.” “It has been cruel,” he said tenderly, with a voice which had tears in it, like their eyes. And there was not much more said, for they were all touched to that point at which words become vulgar and unmeaning. He went away shortly after, his heart swelling with tender brotherliness, friendship, and all the enthusiasm of generosity. The mere suggestion of their sacrifice had made him capable of that which had seemed so terrible to him an hour ago. He went out with his heart beating, full of high purpose and inspiration, quite happy, though that which had made him so miserable yesterday appeared now assured and certain. Such is the unreasonableness of youth. When he had gone the girls turned to each other half laughing, half crying. They were happy too in this little encounter of generosity and impulsive feeling. “That is what we thought Englishmen were like,” said Grace. “And he is the first Englishman we have known,” said Milly. “Very different from Dr Brewer,” cried the elder sister. Milly looked up, wondering, with a little “Oh!” of startled, almost wounded feeling. To compare Geoffrey to Dr Brewer!--or to any one, she whispered deep down in her being, out of hearing even of herself.