When Mrs. Eastwood heard the door close she came back anxiously to the drawing-room. Things had gone badly for Sir Alexis, she felt sure, from the mere fact that he had gone away. Innocent was about to step out again through the open window when her aunt came up to her. She laid her hand upon the girl’s shoulder, detaining her. Innocent had still her history-book clasped in one hand against her breast. “Where is Sir Alexis?” said Mrs. Eastwood. “Have you sent him away?” “Oh, no,” said Innocent, the gleam of intelligence which I have already described still brightening about her face, and changing for the moment into a kind of clever imbecility the usual pensive dreaminess of its expression. “He went away himself quite of his own will. And he was not angry. We are friends as much as ever.” “Then you refused him, Innocent?” “I don’t know what you mean by ‘refused.’ I asked him not to ask you to make me go away. I don’t want to go away. Did you wish me to go?” the girl asked, with the old wistful look coming back into her face. It was the first time this thought had struck her, and a chill stole into her heart. “No,” said Mrs. Eastwood, drawing her close. “I am glad you are not going, Innocent. Only it might have been better for you, my poor child. He is rich, and he is fond of you. He would have been very kind; he would have given you every advantage, more than I can give you. And if anything was to happen to me---- But you don’t understand such calculations. It would have been a comfort to have you settled,” said Mrs. Eastwood with a sigh. “Is Nelly settled?” asked Innocent. “God knows!” cried Mrs. Eastwood, in sudden trouble; and then she turned to the girl whom she had adopted with an instinctive appeal for sympathy. “If I was to die who would think of you who would care for you--Nelly and you? There would be no one but Frederick--and Frederick’s wife.” Innocent did not make any reply--a faint colour flickered over her cheek. She turned away from her aunt, twisting her fingers together with a helpless gesture. Then she said, very low, “Frederick--would always take care--of me.” “Oh, my dear,” cried Mrs. Eastwood, “you must not think of Frederick. I am afraid when he is kind to you he is thinking more of himself than you. That is one reason why I should have been glad, very glad. Frederick belongs to his wife.”