'Yes,' Miss Goodwin assented: 'if you like, Harry.'

Her compassion for me only tentatively encouraged the idea. 'It would,
perhaps, be right. You are the judge. If you can do it. You are acting
bravely.' She must have laughed at me in her heart.

The hours wore on. My curse of introspection left me, and descending
through the town to the pier, amid the breezy blue skirts and bonnet-
strings, we watched the packet-boat approaching. There was in advance
one of the famous swift island wherries. Something went wrong with it,
for it was overtaken, and the steamer came in first. I jumped on board,
much bawled at. Out of a crowd of unknown visages, Janet appeared: my
aunt Dorothy was near her. The pair began chattering of my paleness, and
wickedness in keeping my illness unknown to them. They had seen Temple
on an excursion to London; he had betrayed me, as he would have betrayed
an archangel to Janet.

'Will you not look at us, Harry?' they both said.

The passengers were quitting the boat, strangers every one.

'Harry, have we really offended you in coming?' said Janet.

My aunt Dorothy took the blame on herself.

I scarcely noticed them, beyond leading them on to the pier-steps and
leaving them under charge of Miss Goodwin, who had, in matters of luggage
and porterage, the practical mind and aplomb of an Englishwoman that has
passed much of her time on the Continent. I fancied myself vilely duped