"I expect your father will be back in two or three days at the latest," he said. "Mr. Despard—one of—er—your brother’s friends, is going to bring him down." He had nearly said one of your late brother’s friends, but he checked himself in time. Of course, it would have been far better if Rupert had died, and Sir Reginald secretly hoped he would never live to come out of prison. "Why is Mr. Despard bringing father home?" Marjorie asked. "Perhaps he was one of Rupert’s friends, but he is practically a stranger to us both." "He has been exceedingly kind," Sir Reginald explained. "He is the only man your father knows in London at present. And I may say that he has given practical proof of his kindness and sympathy. He has done something I should like to have done myself—I won’t say anything more about it now, but I will only hint that as long as you choose to remain at Blackthorn Farm no one will disturb you.... The property is your own again—for the mortgage will be redeemed." Marjorie said nothing, but Sir Reginald noticed that a frown puckered her forehead. "I think Mr. Despard was very glad of the excuse your father’s accident gave him to come down here again." He was trying to be tactful, and failing. With a woman’s quick instinct Marjorie divined the hidden meaning of what he said. "Mr. Despard is not a man whose acquaintance I care to continue. I don’t think father was impressed with him, either." "One can’t always judge from appearances. When I first saw him I was certainly not prepossessed in his favour. But he is showing great solicitude for your father in his hour of trial. He is an exceedingly kind-hearted man, and—I know he is looking forward to seeing you again, Miss Dale." It was a feeble effort, and Sir Reginald felt ashamed of it directly afterwards. He held out his hand. "If I can be of any service to you please let me know. I’m afraid you may find your position here a little difficult—but I’m sure we shall do our best to help you to forget the—er—the sorrow that has fallen upon you." Marjorie took his hand and held it. Then, raising her head, she looked straight into his eyes. "Tell me, please, do you believe my brother guilty?" Sir Reginald cleared his throat. It was an extraordinary, a stupid question. Had he not felt so sorry for the girl, he would have been irritated. "Naturally, you haven’t read the newspapers—the evidence. I’m afraid his guilt was proved beyond doubt. Of course, he must have been sorely tempted. The jury would not have found him guilty, my dear young lady, if they had not been absolutely certain of the justice of their verdict." "I’m not asking you what the jury thought. I want to know what you think. For I know that he’s innocent. He did not do it."