But of course she's wretchedly paid. Apart from that, a
really nice girl."
"So this is what you had to tell me?" said Warburton, in a subdued
voice, when the speaker hesitated.
"I wanted to talk about it, old man, that's the truth."
Franks accompanied these words with a shy smiling look of such
friendly appeal that Will felt his hard and surly humour begin to
soften, and something of the old geniality stirring under the dull
weight that had so long oppressed him.
"I suppose it's settled," he asked, staring at the fire.
"Settled? How?"
"When it comes to meetings at Kew Gardens--"
"Oh don't misunderstand," exclaimed Franks nervously, "I told you
that it was with the mother I made the appointment--not with
Bertha herself. I'm quite sure Bertha never heard a word of it."
"Well, it comes to the same thing."
"Not at all! I half wish it did."
"Half?" asked Warburton, with a quick glance.
"Can't you see that I haven't really made up my mind," said Franks,
fidgeting in his chair. "I'm not sure of myself--and I'm still
less sure of her. It's all in the air. I've been there perhaps half
a dozen times--but only like any other acquaintance. And, you
know, she isn't the kind of girl to meet one half way. I'm sorry you
don't know her. You'd be able to understand better.--Then, you
see, there's something a little awkward in her position and mine.
She's the intimate friend of--of the other one, you know; at
least, I suppose she still is; of course we haven't said anything
about that.
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