“It is Mr. Maynard, father, the gentleman who picked you up when you slipped down in Knightsbridge that night, you know.” “You don't say so, Carry? How extraordinary. I remember now John Holl telling me his boy had gone out to service with a gentleman named Maynard, but I didn't know, it never struck me, as being the same. Dear me, what a kind-hearted young man, to be sure.” Carry was silent a moment, and then said pettishly, “Of course he is very kind-hearted, father; but I think he might have come again. I call it downright rude.” Stephen Walker paused in his tea in utter astonishment. He had never given the matter a thought since the evening of Frank Maynard's visit, and this displeasure on the part of his daughter was to him singular and unreasonable in the extreme. “Bless me, Carry,” he said, “you surprise me. Why should Mr. Maynard come again? He came over to see after me, and I was very glad that he did come that we might thank him; but why, in the name of goodness, should he come again?” Carry had no particular reason to give, so she only said generally that she “thought he would come again.” “Now, Carry, that is not at all like you. I call that unreasonable. Why, because Mr. Maynard saved my life, and afterwards took the trouble to come down to see me, he should be bound to come again to a place like this to talk to people like ourselves, I really can't conceive. No, Carry, for once in your life you are wrong, and I am sure you will own it.” Carry did not own it, but tossed her head a little in dissent at the light in which her father put it. “But, father, I am sure Mr. Maynard was pleased with you, very pleased; you chatted together like friends, upon travels and all sorts of things, and I am sure he did not look down upon you at all.” “Not for the time being, Carry,” Stephen Walker said gravely; “Mr. Maynard was a gentleman and treated me under my own roof as a gentleman. He found that we had topics upon which we could discourse in common. He was no doubt surprised, and perhaps, as you say, pleased; but, Carry, there are thousands of men of his own class in life with whom he has not only that but a hundred other topics in common, and why should he come down here to talk to me? No, Carry, you are really not reasonable.” Carry was silent. She could not explain that she was angry that Frank Maynard had not come down to see her, and was therefore obliged to let the matter drop. Still, upon subsequent reflection, Carry did not feel the less piqued. She was hurt, and was angry with herself for being so.