"So that is why Cartouche was not allowed to come?" he said with a smile. "Do you know how he distinguished himself last night? Somehow or other he got on the roof and sat there. Quite a crowd gathered round the house before we had any idea what was the attraction, and Winter, my aunt's maid, went into hysterics. But I assure you his effect among the chimneys was absolutely demoniacal." She smiled, but she was looking straight before her. Why did not some one join them? she thought with a throb. Why did he talk to her? Why was fate so cruel and yet so sweet that she could not get away from it? Apparently her coldness only provoked Jack, who wanted nothing more than her past friendliness, but thought himself ill-used at its withdrawal. He said at last boldly-- "Something has vexed you. What is it? Has anything fresh turned up about your brother?" She coloured and caught at his second question, feeling that sooner than let her secret betray itself she would talk with him, walk with him, and endure any torture. "Nothing new," with a faltering voice. "We have not heard again from Clive, any of us. But it is impossible to forget; and oh, Mr Ibbetson, I wanted to say that I have thought it over a great deal--I mean what you were so kind as to suggest the other day. But it is impossible; it is of no use. Nothing seems as if it could be of use." She corrected herself. "I should not say that; Mr Trent will do his utmost." "Anyone would do his utmost," said Jack, more warmly than he need have spoken. It was almost impossible for poor Bice to repel his eagerness and kindness. They were a little in advance of the others, the path went twisting and clambering upwards. Once, perhaps because she was not thinking of the rough stones, she slipped, and he put out his hand and caught hers. It was not for more than a minute, but those behind saw the movement. Jack did not know it himself, but this shrinking, this apparent coldness of the girl's was stirring him to a stronger interest. All his life as yet he had had pretty much what he cared for--liking, popularity, success; finally, a fortune and a wife were waiting for him. The things had come too easily, so that a charm was wanting in them all. It piqued and roused him when he found a difficulty in the way. If he had known what he was heaping up for Bice it would have shocked him. She did know, and had thought that she would avoid him; but he would not be avoided, he was bent, as it seemed, upon monopolising her. The poor child was bewildered, miserable, happy, all at once. Trent, who had fancied he had stopped it, was furious.