“Yes,” said Kitty timidly, “I have them with me. There are several—one a play.” “Would it be too much,” Anthony began and halted. “Mr. West means that he would like to read them,” Hilda remarked. “I think you might trust him,” she added, with a glint of amusement. “Really, Anthony, I never saw you so enthusiastic before!” “Wait, Hilda, until I give you some cuttings of Hugh Carstairs’ articles to read. And you, Miss Carstairs, perhaps, when you know me better, you will allow me to look at the unfinished works.” At this point Matilda brought in tea, and the conversation became less personal. Kitty was well content to listen. She was more than interested. The five years of barren drudgery in Dunford were forgotten. She was living in a new world, the world of her girlish dreams during the last year of her father’s life, the world he had promised he would show her—some day—when his ship came home. . . . And Hilda Risk, guessing what it meant to the girl, kept West talking of people and things in his profession, till with a start he noticed the hour, and rose to go. Hilda went with him to the door. She had a question to ask. “Anthony,” she said, “it’s not like you to gush. Did you really admire her father’s work so much?” “Honestly, Hilda. Why, the man was a genius, though I’m afraid he didn’t make the most of himself. Possibly your brother has not mentioned that he knew Carstairs well.” “John! He never told me!” she exclaimed. “As a matter of fact,” he added. “John requested me to call on you this afternoon.” “Oh!” “You’re not annoyed, Hilda?”, he asked rather anxiously. “Of course not!” she smiled. “And I ought not to be surprised at this time of day at anything John does. I suppose he wanted your impression of Kitty?” “I think he wanted to be made absolutely certain that she is the daughter of Hugh Carstairs. I was not to make any other inquiries of her. But, as you know, there isn’t much profit in asking John his reasons.” “I do know—and we’ll leave it at that. And I’ll not ask you what you think of Kitty—yet. Come soon again and make her better acquaintance. She is very sweet, and she will be bright, too, once she gets a chance. . . . Working as hard as ever, I suppose?” she said, as he took her hand for a moment. He smiled a little sadly. “Will you allow me to take you and Miss Carstairs to the theatre one night soon?” he said. “Thank you; that will be a treat for us both, Anthony.” “I’d like to introduce a friend of mine who has just turned up in London—Colin Hayward. Your brother—” “Why, John mentioned him yesterday!” “Then may I bring him?” “Surely.” “Till then, good-bye.” Hilda returned to the sitting-room to find a new Kitty, all delight and eagerness. “Please tell me what he writes?” she asked, almost sure that Mr. West was her friend’s lover.