Possibly Sharp was used to Miss Risk’s ways, for he went without hesitation, and before long his master, garbed as Hilda had suggested, came forward. He was tall, thin, clean-shaven, and you would have known him as Hilda’s brother by his eyes. “Good Lord!” he exclaimed at the sight of Kitty. “I beg your pardon!” he added quickly. “What is it, Hilda?” “Just this, John. If a gentleman, more or less, should call here with inquiries about a Miss Kitty Carstairs, you will oblige by treating him as you would treat an undesirable person inquiring for your own sister. And please instruct Sharp accordingly.” “Very well,” said Mr. Risk, without the slightest emotion of any kind. “I’ll remember, and so shall Sharp. But may I know the gentleman’s name, more or less?” Hilda turned to Kitty. “Would you mind?” “Mr. Symington,” murmured Kitty, with a lovely, shameful colour. “Thank you. . . . But, my dear sister, where are your manners?” It was Hilda’s turn to blush. “Oh, Miss Carstairs, do forgive me! That wretched man put everything out of my head. Let me introduce my brother, Mr. Risk—Miss Carstairs.” Mr. Risk held out his hand—apparently he had forgotten his costume—and the embarrassed girl could not but take it. “I never wonder at my sister making friends,” he said pleasantly, “but I do marvel that she keeps any. Well, Hilda, won’t you and Miss Carstairs stay and take breakfast with me?” “Impossible—thanks all the same. Good-bye, John, and don’t forget the name.” “I will,” he retorted teasingly, “and treat all inquiring gentlemen as you requested.” Hilda went laughing into the lift, and Kitty, feeling the friendly clasp of her arm, smiled almost happily. CHAPTER VIII AT the same hour, some four hundred miles away, Kitty’s absence was being felt. It was time to open the post office, and John Corrie was realizing that he would have more than enough to do until he secured a new assistant—whom he would have to pay! Corrie had just opened the shop. Outside the boy was cleaning the windows; inside Miss Corrie was setting things straight on the provision counter. He himself was bending at the open safe, taking out the usual supplies of silver and copper for the tills. These were contained in ancient battered pewter mugs, and now he laid the mugs on the floor preparatory to closing and locking up the safe. An impatient knocking came from the post office, and he cursed under his breath. But it was already five minutes past eight, and it would never do to have talk about the office not being opened punctually. Rising, he called to his sister to look after the money, and hastened away to admit the knocker. Miss Corrie moved listlessly towards the safe. Her face had a drawn look. She had not slept. She had spoken scarce a word to her brother since Kitty’s departure, and neither she nor Sam, whom she had helped with the sorting this morning, had referred to the previous evening’s affair. Sam and Corrie had not yet met.