'Of course not,' was the reply, in a tone of self-persuasion.
'Mr Milvain is sure to have plenty of money before long.'
'Yes.'
'You feel much better now, don't you?'
'Much. I am quite well again.'
At seven, Marian went out. Finding herself weaker than she had
thought, she stopped an empty cab that presently passed her, and
so drove to the Milvains' lodgings. In her agitation she inquired
for Mr Milvain, instead of for Dora, as was her habit; it
mattered very little, for the landlady and her servants were of
course under no misconception regarding this young lady's visits.
Jasper was at home, and working. He had but to look at Marian to
see that something wretched had been going on at her home;
naturally he supposed it the result of his letter to Mr Yule.
'Your father has been behaving brutally,' he said, holding her
hands and gazing anxiously at her.
'There is something far worse than that, Jasper.'
'Worse?'
She threw off her outdoor things, then took the fatal letter from
her pocket and handed it to him. Jasper gave a whistle of
consternation, and looked vacantly from the paper to Marian's
countenance.
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