The Heart of a Woman. Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy

impudent impostor, a blackmailer' and that's all I can get out of him."

      "He won't see the man?"

      "Won't hear of it."

      "And won't he let his solicitor—Mr. Dobson, isn't it?—meet the other lawyer?"

      "He says he wouldn't dream of wasting old Dobson's time."

      "Then what's going to happen?"

      "I don't see," he said, "what is going to happen."

      "Won't you have a talk about it all with Mr. Dobson, and see what he says?"

      "I can't very well do that. Strictly speaking it's none of my business—as yet. I couldn't consult Uncle Rad's lawyers, without Uncle Rad's consent."

      "Another one then."

      He shrugged his shoulders, obviously undecided what to do. He had thought very little about himself or his future in all this: his thoughts had dwelt mostly on Lord Radclyffe—father, mother, brother, sister to them all. Bless him! And then he had thought of her. He looked round him with eyes that scarcely saw, for they really were turned inward to his own simple soul, and to his loving heart. Right up against that very simplicity of soul, a duty stood clear and uncompromising. A duty yet to be performed, the real aim and end of all that he had said so far. But he did not know how best to perform such a duty.

      Simple souls—unlike the complex psychological phenomena of modern times—are apt to be selfless, to think more of the feelings of others, than of analyzing their own various sensations; and Luke knew that what he considered his duty would not be quite so obvious to Louisa, and that by fulfilling it he would give her pain.