CHAPTER XXV
“ I think you must have heard me speak of Mr. Drake?” Mrs. Jordan had never looked so queer, nor her smile so suggestive of a large benevolent bite.
“ Mr. Drake? Oh yes; isn’t he a friend of Lord Rye?”
“ A great and trusted friend. Almost—I may say—a loved friend.”
Mrs. Jordan’s “almost” had such an oddity that her companion was moved, rather flippantly perhaps, to take it up. “Don’t people as good as love their friends when they I trust them?”
It pulled up a little the eulogist of Mr. Drake. “Well, my dear, I love you —”
“ But you don’t trust me?” the girl unmercifully asked.
Again Mrs. Jordan paused—still she looked queer. “Yes,” she replied with a certain austerity; “that’s exactly what I’m about to give you rather a remarkable proof of.” Th
