"Ah, yes, I saw him kiss you, Freddy, as if you were old friends; when have you seen him before to-day?" "Oh, often, papa, and he kisses the other little boys too when we're in the playground, and he's so kind to us in the schoolroom." "Schoolroom! what schoolroom? Who are you talking about, Freddy?" "About Mr. Henry Halford, papa; he used to teach the little boys' class at our school--Dr. Halford's, you know, papa, where I go at Englefield Grange. Dr. Halford is Mr. Henry's father. He hasn't taught us since Easter, because he's been to Oxford learning to be a clergy man." There was silence for a few moments. Mr. Armstrong glanced at his wife and daughter. "Did you know this when we met the father and son at Drummond's?" he asked his wife. "Of course I did," she replied. "Why did you not mention it to me?" Much as Mrs. Armstrong dreaded an angry word from her husband, she could not utter an untruth. "I had my reasons," she said, calmly; "they cannot be explained now, I will tell you when we are alone." "And did you know it, Mary?" asked her father, as he saw the flushed face on which blushes had fixed a colour that made his daughter look as if she were painted. "Yes, papa," she replied, "if you remember I took Freddy to school in the winter, because mamma was not well enough to go herself." Mrs. Armstrong saw the gathering clouds on her husband's brow, and turning to her boys, she said-- "Freddy, go up to the nursery, or into the garden, with your brothers for half an hour. I will send Morris for you when it is time for bed." The boys obeyed, and Mary also rose to go, but her father stopped her. "Sit down, Mary. I want to know why I have been kept in ignorance about these school people. Why did you and your mother hide the fact from me?" "I did not hide it, papa. I thought you knew from Mr. Drummond who these gentlemen were. Why should I wish to conceal their names from you? I knew nothing of them except as schoolmasters until I went to Oxford." "And how often have you met this young schoolmaster?" asked her father, with suppressed anger. "Once when I took Freddy to school, and a second time when I dined with him at Mr. Drummond's. Until I met him at Oxford with his friend Charles Herbert he was a comparative stranger to me." "And you met him there often?" said her father, his tones slightly softened by finding this schoolmaster a friend of his nephew Charles. "Every day." "Alone?" "Once, by accident." "And then he made love to you, I suppose." "Papa!" There was a mixture of sorrow, distress, anger, and indignation in the tone in which Mary Armstrong repeated this word.