Ada always spoke in a very direct way, with few words. Strangers attributed this partly to shyness, partly to a character lacking amenity. It was due to neither in fact, but was one of the results of her ambiguous position which made her at once reticent and heedless of conventional mannerisms. “She has, I fear. The truth is, she hasn’t been herself ever since she came back from Knightswell last summer. She has always been either depressed or unnaturally excited. It makes me very uneasy.” Ada made no comment. “Do you find her--communicative?” he proceeded to ask. “The opposite. She would scarcely speak to me.” “You don’t say so? Now I wonder whether I may ask you to be of--of assistance to me; whether you will not accuse me of indelicacy if I tell you freely what it is that troubles me? You know that I always think of you as vastly older and maturer than my own girls--pass the words, you understand them--and that I have several times been led to speak to you of things I should not yet touch upon with them. Well, the fact is this. From the child’s talk while she was delirious, I am obliged to conclude that she--in fact, that she has been so unfortunate as to fall in love with some one who has behaved rather badly to her. Who this can be, I have not a notion; she kept repeating the name Vincent, and I am acquainted with no one so called. I could only gather the vaguest impressions, but she was perpetually deploring her poverty, and speaking of marriages made for money, and so on. Now, you will see that this is very alarming; I cannot conceive what it means, or how such things can have come about. Can you--this is my blunt question--can you, out of your knowledge of Rhoda, help me to an understanding of it?” Ada’s eyes had fallen, and her face had taken its hardest expression. Her hands were on her lap, the one clutching over the back of the other. When she answered it was in a distant tone. “I can offer no explanation. I know nothing of Rhoda’s affairs.” “Now--I have offended you,” said Mr. Meres, with vexation. “Surely, Ada, you see that it was very natural in me to speak to you of this. Rhoda herself will, I am convinced, refuse to give me her confidence, even if I can bring myself to ask it. The difficulty is most serious; how can I tell----? Never mind, we’ll speak no more of it. Tell me what you have been reading.” “You are far too hasty, and unjust to me,” said Ada, looking up quietly. “I am not at all offended. It is only that I have nothing to say which can help you. On such a subject Rhoda is as little likely to speak with me as with you. She is a reserved girl.” “Yes, she is, though strangely frank at times; that is my view of her character. Well, I can only ask you to put the matter out of your head. Really, you troubled me; I felt so sure of you, and to see you all at once put on the unintelligent coldness of an ordinary young lady----” “Am I not an ordinary young lady?” asked Ada, smiling.