"You come along here, Flossie," said Griffiths. "There's no end of a row, that's the truth. Come and stand by me. Tell me what you know of this Nesta business--this runaway business, this daring to deceive an honest man, this creeping off, so to speak, in the dark. Tell me what you know. Own up, child, own up, and be quick." "Yes, tell us what you know," said Horace. His voice was kind; Flossie turned to him. "I--it was my fault as much as hers." "Your fault?" bellowed her father. "Your fault?" "Oh, for goodness' sake, Griffiths, don't frighten the wits out of the poor child; let her speak," exclaimed the mother. But when all was said and done, Flossie had grit in her. She was not going on this day of calamity to let her friend bear the brunt alone. "We did it between us," she said. "Poor old Nesta, she was having such a bad time, and I wanted her so much. We planned it together. We knew that if father knew it he would not take her, so we planned it, and you never guessed, father, and, and--Oh, I suppose you will give me an awful punishment--send me to a terrible school or something of that sort." But Griffiths was past himself. "You knew it--you planned it! Why, you are as bad as she is!" He took her by her shoulders and shook her. Her black eyes blazed up into his face. "Yes, I am quite as bad as she is," she said. "Then go out of the room. Go upstairs." "Griffiths, Griffiths," moaned the mother. "You must do just as you please with regard to your daughter," said Horace then. "I am sorry for Miss Griffiths; I don't think, notwithstanding her confession, that she can be as bad as Nesta; but what I want to know is, where is Nesta?" "I will tell you, Mr Aldworth. If my poor child was brave enough to fight her father when he was in the turkey-cock stage, I'm not going to be a whit behind her. We may be bad, Floss and I, but we're not cowards. The poor child was so cowed by the tone of Griffiths' telegram that she begged and implored of me to lend her money to go home before Griffiths got back. That is the long and short of it, and she's safe back at Newcastle by this time, and safe in your house, and doubtless her mother has forgiven her. I lent her the money to go." "How much?" said Horace sternly. "Not a penny more than ten shillings. The poor child said she would let me have it back again. Not that I want it--indeed I don't." Horace put his hand into his pocket, took out half a sovereign and laid it on the table. "I have to thank you both," he said, turning to Griffiths, "for your great kindness to my sister. You meant well, however ill she meant. I have nothing to say with regard to your daughter's conduct except that I would not be too hard on her, Mr Griffiths, if I were you. The girl might have tried to get out of it, but she did not; there is always something in that. Now I shall just have time to catch my train."