"You have not had tea?" Paul asked, closing the window and advancing into the room. "Shall I ring for some, and—and ask Hugh to join us?" "You can ring for tea," Hazel rejoined decisively, "but I don’t want Hugh here—at all events not just yet. He would be the very worst person to overhear what I have to say. I must say it to you quite alone." Paul felt immensely relieved. He had done his duty; he had left the settlement of a slightly embarrassing situation to the lady, and if that lady forbade him to call a third person to the interview about to take place, it was not for him to insist. Yet, on looking at her again his conscience smote him. The lady was so young, so unsophisticated—his bonnie Hazel—perhaps he ought to act for her, give her brotherly advice and hints as to what was customary. But no, he could not do it. If he succeeded in making her see at all what he meant, it would be at the cost of embarrassing her, and nothing would be more cruel than so to wound the girl. He seated himself at some distance from her and divined, to his amused chagrin, from her look of surprise, as she involuntarily glanced at a chair near her own and thence to the one he had taken, that she had momentarily deemed him unfriendly inclined, but was the next instant content and satisfied with the reason of his action: the chair he had taken was the more comfortable! "You have forgotten to ring," she began; "but it is just as well, because I shall only keep you a few minutes and then you can have tea, and Hugh." Paul felt a third misinterpretation of his movements would be a last straw. "I daresay you are pining for company this dull afternoon," she continued; "and oh, Mr. Charteris," she broke off, "it is very serious what I have to say." "You shall tell me in a moment," he replied; "but are you not very wet? Had I not better put a match to that firing? We could dry your cloak, and you could put your feet to it. It seems I am always to see you dripping, like a mermaid." Hazel flushed at this allusion to the incident of two days since; but now that he had brought it to her recollection, she took furtive glances at the grey coat he was wearing, an uneasy sense that it was familiar to her pervading her mind; and surely, yes, surely—or was it her imagination?—a patch upon the right shoulder showed slightly darker than the rest, as the flames he was kindling played upon his figure, us if it was still somewhat damp. She was in ignorance of the exact mode of her conveyance to the house, but had shrewd suspicions—suspicions that made her too shy to ask questions. She was sure of one thing: she had not walked. "You are none the worse for your immersion, I hope?" Paul asked, still busy with the fire. He knew that he was embarrassing her, but his pleasure in her company made him mischievously inclined. "No, thank you," Hazel answered demurely. "I am quite well."