“In anger!” Heather repeated in astonishment, “when we all loved Bessie as though she had been one of our own household! Why she does not write to me, I cannot tell, only I know she has some good reason for her silence; and I would rather not talk about her any more, or, perhaps, like Lally, I shall begin to be foolish and cry too.” An explanation necessitated by the fact that Mrs. Dudley was crying partly because of her child’s grief, and partly because she never could speak of Bessie without a feeling of bitter sorrow. After that there fell a sudden silence on the party, during the continuance of which Heather employed herself in adjusting Master Leonard’s collar, which was crooked to an unimaginable extent; Mr. Stewart read the newspaper; Lucy looked at Heather; and Mr. Croft, his chin resting on Lally’s head, gazed out of the window, his thoughts wandering the while miles, and miles away. “Do you expect Mr. Dudley to meet you?” asked Mr. Stewart, when the train had passed New Cross, and was speeding on through Bermondsey. “No,” Heather answered; “but his brother will be at the station.” “Oh! he has brothers.” “Two,” Heather explained; and a few minutes afterwards she was introducing Alick to Mr. Stewart, who looked on him not ungraciously, while Mr. Croft stood a little apart, apparently by no means desirous of making Mr. Alexander Dudley’s acquaintance. “We are detaining you,” Heather said, at length, to Mr. Stewart; who remarked, as he bade her “Good-bye,” that he also was going to Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and should probably arrive there first. Then she turned and looked for Mr. Croft, who, unable longer to avoid the situation, now came forward, and assisted her into a cab. As he did so, Alick, with a sudden amazement, recognised him. “Who is that gentleman?” he asked Heather; while the object of this inquiry followed Mr. Stewart into a hansom, which immediately drove off. “Mr. Croft—Mr. Douglas Aymescourt Croft. Why? Do you know him; have you ever seen him before?” “I think I have once,” Alick answered, remembering for certain he had met that same individual rather more than twelve months previously, on the Sunday afternoon when he walked across to North Kemms church with Bessie, and she left her prayer-book behind her in the pew. CHAPTER IV. AT KEMMS PARK.