He coloured to his temples as he replied: 'Of course I am, Miss Haddon. It's--it's a great loss, make the best of it, to an only child; and it came upon her so suddenly, poor girl.' Adding, a little consciously (I daresay it was not pleasant to have me silently eyeing him as I was doing), 'Tell her, please, that I am longing to do what I may to comfort her--beg her, for my sake to keep up. It will never do to let her get low and desponding, you know. Hers is a nature of the tendril kind--so entirely dependent upon those she loves.' 'I do not think so, Mr Trafford; and I do not think that those she loves will find it so. At anyrate, she does not give _me_ the idea of being weak.' 'I meant only the kind of delicacy which accompanies refinement, and which is so charming in a woman, Miss Haddon;' adding a little more pointedly than was necessary, I thought: 'such fragility as arouses the chivalry of men.' 'As the chivalry is dying out, I must hope that the exciting cause is getting scarcer, Mr Trafford.' We eyed each other a moment, and then tacitly agreed for an armed truce. I left him, and went to Lilian's room with lagging steps and a heavy heart. * * * * * 'Arthur feels it terribly,' she said, lifting her eyes to mine as I entered the room; fortunately for me, taking it as a matter of course that he did. 'Dear papa was so good to him.' 'He hopes you will bear up for his sake, dear Lilian.' 'I will, indeed I will. Tell him he shall not find me selfish by-and-by.' Still no allusion to the one subject which was engrossing all my thoughts. It was not until the evening after the funeral that she approached it, and then she waited until she and I were alone, before doing so. Flushing painfully, and with downcast eyes, she hesitatingly begun: 'Have you been thinking of--of what dear papa told us--that night, Mary?' 'Yes, dear, I have; a great deal.' 'I am so thankful that you and you only were present.' She paused a few moments, and I tried to help her. 'I think that there is no doubt--you have a sister, and that the packet, which I have taken care of, is intended for her, Lilian.' Taking it from my desk, I shewed her the words on it in her father's handwriting: 'Quarter's allowance due 24th for Marian;' with an address, 'Mrs Pratt, Green Street, Islington.' 'Marian! Yes; that was the name,' she murmured. 'I have since found out that she was born three or four years before Mr Farrar was married to your mother, Lilian.' A bright hope sprang to her eyes. 'Perhaps he was married before, Mary?' 'I do not think that is likely, or it would be known. But I know you will none the less do what is just and right.'