“And where would you go?” said Doris. “To his lodgings? Only fancy, a young man’s lodgings in Half Moon Street, just the sort of place where they think the worst of everything. He would be at his wit’s end. He would think it very sweet of you, but just awfully silly. For what would he do with you? He could not keep you there. It would put him in the most awkward position. For Fred’s sake, if you really care for him, don’t, for heaven’s sake, do anything so extraordinary. Here is mother, she will tell you.” “Mamma,” they both cried, as Mrs. Dirom came into the room, “Effie has got the strangest idea. I think she must be a little wrong in her head. She says she is going to Fred----” “To Fred!” the mother exclaimed with a voice full of agitation. “Has anything happened to Fred----” “Don’t make yourself anxious, it is only her nonsense. She has heard about the firm, I suppose. She thinks he is ruined, and all that, and she wants to go to him to stand by him--to show him that she will not forsake him. It’s pretty, but it’s preposterous,” said Doris, giving Effie a sudden kiss. “Tell her she will only make Fred uncomfortable. She will not listen to us.” Mrs. Dirom had a look of heat and excitement which her children never remembered to have seen in her before, but which Effie understood who knew. Her eyes were red, her colour high, a flush across her cheek-bones: her lips trembled with a sort of nervous impatience. “Oh,” she cried, “haven’t I enough to think of? Do I want to be bothered with such childish nonsense now? Going to Fred! What does she want with Fred? He has other things in his mind. Let her go home, that is the only thing to do----” “So we have told her: but she says she wants to go to the train; and something about my father who is here, and will be going too.” “Nothing of the sort,” cried Mrs. Dirom, sharply. She gave Effie a look of alarm, almost threatening, yet imploring--a look which asked her how much she knew, yet defied her to know anything. “The poor little thing has got a fright,” she said, subduing her voice. “I am not angry with you, Effie; you mean it kindly, but it would never, never do. You must go home.” Effie’s strength had ebbed out of her as she stood turning her bewildered head from one to another, hearing with a shock unspeakable that Fred--Fred whom she had been so anxious to succour!--would not want her, which made the strangest revolution in her troubled mind. But still mechanically she held to her point. “I will not be any trouble. I will just sit in the corner and never say a word. Let me go to the train with Mr. Dirom. Let me go--with him. He is very kind, he will not mind.” “Mamma, do you hear what she says? She has said it again and again. Can papa be here and none of us know?”