"Is there anything so wonderful in my question? I may have something to send her. I may know some one who wants--her help." "Dear Charlie," said Mrs Wargrave, "I know you'll think it strange when I tell you--just as if she had something to conceal!--she left no address." He turned upon his cousin, who was gazing at his wife, and caught him unawares. Seizing his arm: "Is that true?" he said. "Charlie, don't!" said Leicester Wargrave. "My good fellow, don't do it. You'll never repent it but once, and that will be all your life." "What does he mean?" said Charles, turning from the husband to the wife. "How can I tell what he means?" cried that lady. "You are very uncivil to ask him if what I say is true. It is perfectly true. He may talk as much nonsense as he pleases, but it is the plain fact that I don't know Mademoiselle's address." Charles Wargrave looked her in the face sternly. "I do not believe you!" he said, as if every word had been a stone; and, flinging his cigarette among the bushes, he turned round and left the garden and the house. It startled him a little as he went out to receive the same answer from the butler to whom he repeated his question. "The young lady, sir, went off in a great hurry. I asked her where I should send her letters, but she said she expected no letters. And she went off without leaving an address." Was it a conspiracy against him, framed by her? or was it some interference of Marian's? or was it true, which would almost be worst of all?