He looked at her scared face, he heard the distress in her tone, and answered with a different accent. "Oh no, my dear Miss Haredale, no.--That is a closed score." "If I could pay the money, I would not close it," suddenly exclaimed the girl, clenching her hands in their delicate gloves. "You--you bought the right to insult us--and--you have done harm for which no money can pay! My mother _does_ believe in you," she went on--"she thinks you are very good, and that you are fond of us and a real friend. She trusted you with my little sisters, and you made jokes with them, that _you_ knew were not right; and now you break it all off, because you think Miss Verrequers will blame you, if she hears. If you love her, you would like to tell her the truth. My mother is not selfish, she was glad to hear you had good fortune, though she knew that she would miss you, though she is very sorry to part with you. You should not look like that, and speak in that voice, when you speak of her to me." "No, Miss Haredale, I should not," said Major Fowler. "Nor should you have been sent on this errand. Unselfish! Good heavens! Give me the packet, and I will make all further communications direct to Lady Haredale. I assure you--" and he looked full at the girl, and pulled his moustaches hard, while he continued--"The situation is a little unusual, but I have the very greatest respect for Lady Haredale, and all her family. It's all perfectly square, I assure you. Don't distress yourself." He bent closely over her as he took the packet from her hand, and before she could answer, they both became aware of the presence of Sylvester Riddell, and Amethyst, confused and ashamed, feeling herself to blame for losing her temper and her dignity, hardly knowing whether he was very kind or very hateful, had to pull herself together and play her part. So well she did it, that Major Fowler muttered to himself as he turned away, "That's a good girl--but she'd soon be a bad one, if she was left to her mother." Amethyst herself was surprised to find that there was a kind of excitement in managing well, and, even when she was alone with Lucian, her feeling was rather that of pushing aside the hateful burden, than of wishing to confide it to him. She wanted to think of him, not of her life apart from him. Mutual confidence is a plant of slower growth than mutual love. Besides, though she could not have put it definitely to herself, she had an instinctive dread of his stern clear judgment, and would not have had him guess at Una's folly for the world.