“He writes beautiful things that don’t sell,” Hilda replied a trifle bitterly, “and he makes a poor but decent living from a wretched provincial paper. And,” she continued with a change of tone, “there isn’t a better man on this earth—nor a prouder. I’m telling you this, Kitty, because you are likely to meet him pretty often. He has refused a post worth £1,500 a year offered him by my brother.” “Oh, why?” “Because at Cromer, four years ago, he saved me from drowning, and he refuses to be paid for that. There’s pride for you!” “Isn’t it more than pride?” Kitty softly ventured. Miss Risk passed to the window and drew up the blind, remarking: “He is going to take us to the theatre one night soon.” Kitty clasped her hands in rapture. “I seem to have come into Heaven!” The other laughed. “By the way, he has a great friend who hails from your part of the world, Kitty. Mr. Colin Hayward—” “Oh!” cried Kitty. “You know him?” “Yes.” “Not another villain, I hope!” “Oh, no.” “You would not mind if Mr. West brought him here?” “Indeed, no,” said Kitty, angry with herself for blushing. It was so silly, especially as she was not in love with Colin. Hilda did not pursue the subject. Their friendship, she felt, was still far too new for the taking of liberties, however kindly. After a pause— “Have you decided,” she inquired, “ about letting your aunt know your address? I wish I could advise you, but I simply don’t know what to say about it.” Kitty sighed. “I think I’ll wait for another day. If I could only let her know without my uncle learning it.” “He can’t hurt you now.” “I wonder,” murmured Kitty, with another sigh. “Oh, this won’t do! Mustn’t get into the dumps again! Leave it till to-morrow, as you say. How do you feel about a walk before dinner?” “I’d love it! And please, Hilda?” “Go on, Kitty.” “Will you—will you help me to buy some decent clothes?” “Hooray!” cried Miss Risk, “that’s the proper spirit!” Matilda came in with a telegram for her mistress. “Reply paid, Miss,” she said retiring; “boy’s waiting.” Hilda read the following:— “Has your guest any recollection of hearing her father use the word zenith not in an astronomical sense?—John.” “My brother asks an extraordinary question,” said Hilda, and handed the message to Kitty. Kitty gazed at it, frowned and shook her head. Then—“Oh, wait! The answer to the question is ‘No,’ but once, quite recently, I heard my uncle speak of Zeniths—not zenith. But why should Mr. Risk—” “Don’t ask me! I’ll just reply, ‘Not father but uncle,’” said Hilda, going to the writing-table. And just then Matilda came in with another telegram. “Goodness!” exclaimed Hilda, and with her pencil slit it open. Her gay expression faded out. She paled slightly, muttering, “Another matter,” and tore it into little pieces. Then she went on with writing the reply.