She let him go, and as he went back to the gate he reflected that Helen
had taken the proper and tactful line by dismissing him as if he were
nothing more than an acquaintance. He could be nothing more now, and to
yield to sentiment would have been painful and foolish; but it hurt him
that she had realized this.
When he wheeled his bicycle away from the gate he saw a boy who helped
his father's gardener running along the road, and waited until he came
up, hot and panting. The boy held out a small envelope.
"It came after you left, Mr. Dick," he gasped.
"Then you have been very quick."
The lad smiled, for Dick was a favorite with his father's servants.
"I thought you'd like to have the note," he answered, and added
awkwardly: "Besides, I didn't see you when you went."
It was the first hint of kindness Dick had received since his disgrace
and he took the lad's hand before he gave him half a crown, though he
knew that he must practise stern economy.
"Thank you and good-by, Jim. You must have taken some trouble to catch
me," he said.
Then he opened the envelope and his look softened.
"I heard of your misfortune and am very sorry, but something tells me
that you are not to blame," the note ran, and was signed "Clare
Kenwardine."
For a moment or two Dick was sensible of keen relief and satisfaction;
and then his mood changed. This was the girl who had robbed and ruined
him; she must think him a fool! Tearing up the note, he mounted his
bicycle and rode off to the station in a very bitter frame of mind.