“Apparently not,” said Lennox Kyrle dryly. To his credit it may be said that nothing had so completely disillusioned him with regard to Fanny Berrien, not even her perfidy toward himself, as her selfishness toward her young cousin. To take advantage of a child’s ignorance and generosity, to put her into a position that might have seriously compromised her, seemed to him an act so unworthy, that he could not entertain a shade of respect for the woman who was capable of it. “But it does not follow that, because nobody thinks of you, nobody _should_ think of you,” he went on with energy. “You should think of yourself, and not allow your cousin to make use of you in this manner.” “I am quite willing to be made use of, if I am not asked to do anything wrong,” said Aimée, simply; “and it seemed to me that it would have been worse in Fanny to go away with you, than to send me to tell you that she could not go.” “Perhaps so,” said he, unable to resist smiling, “and I am quite willing to acknowledge that it was better she did not keep her appointment--better to break faith than keep it with an unwilling heart; but she might have had courage enough to own the truth herself.” “She was afraid of you,” said Aimée, candidly. “And then there was the danger of her being seen. If Mr. Meredith had seen _her_--” She stopped short--confusion and alarm painted on her face--conscious how far her tongue had betrayed her. There was an instant’s hope that Lennox Kyrle would not observe the name which had slipped out, but the next moment proved that hope vain. “It would have been awkward, certainly, if Mr.--Meredith, did you say?--had seen her,” he replied quietly. “But how if he had seen _you_? Perhaps he did!” (with a sudden flash of comprehension). “I remember now that after you left, as I stood watching to see you safely home, I noticed a man on the sea wall who seemed watching you also. If that is the case, he shall understand the truth. I will go to him myself.” “Oh, no, no!” cried Aimée, in an agony of apprehension. “You must not think of such a thing! You would only do harm to Fanny, and no good to me--for how does it matter what Mr. Meredith thinks of me? I am of no importance.” “You have said that several times,” answered Kyrle, “but I beg to differ with you. Because you are a child now, it does not follow that you will always be a child, and the time must come when you will understand that it is of great importance that you should not be suspected of making midnight appointments like that of last night. It was in a measure my fault that you were sent on such an errand, so I am bound in honor to let the truth be known.”