She followed him into the room, wondering. This was not the customary reception on her return from seeing the London mail go by, and she was later to-night than ever she had been. Her aunt, sitting with folded hands on one side of the fern-filled hearth, gave her an instant’s glance, which conveyed nothing, and resumed staring at the folded, toil-worn hands in her lap. Her uncle took his chair on the other side, saying— “Sit down. Ye’re late, but maybe ye’ve a good reason for that.” It may have been a smile that distorted, for a moment, his thin lips. Kitty drew a chair from the table, seated herself and waited. She had learned long ago never to open a conversation with these two. Mr. Corrie rubbed his hairy jaw between finger and thumb, cleared his throat, and said, almost pleasantly—“Well, did he meet ye?” It was an unexpected question, and she could not answer immediately. He helped her by adding, “Ye needna be shy. Mr. Symington left here half-an-hour back to look for ye.” “No,” she answered, “he didn’t meet me.” Strange that her uncle should speak of the man as “Mr.” “Eh? No.” She repeated. “He didn’t meet me.” “That’s queer.” Uncle and aunt exchanged glances, and the latter asked. “Where were ye to-night?” “At the railway.” “And ye didn’t see Mr. Symington?” “Yes. I saw him—at a distance.” There was a pause before Mr. Corrie spoke with less smoothness than previously. “Did ye keep away from him!” “Not more than usual.” “I want a plain answer.” “No.” “Then—who was wi’ ye at the time?” Kitty flushed and went pale. “Mr. Colin Hayward.” “What? That useless waster! Were ye not forbidden to ha’ any acquaintance—” “And he’s failed again in his examinations!” cried Miss Corrie. “It’s the talk o’ the place.” “What ha’ ye to say for yourself?” roared her brother. “Nothing,” came the quiet answer; “nothing that would satisfy you or Aunt Rachel. I had no intention of meeting Mr. Hayward to-night, but when I did meet him I was not going to pretend I did not know him because he had failed in an examination. And before long I was very glad I had met him, for his presence kept away Mr. Symington. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll go to bed—” A warning glance from his sister caused Mr. Corrie to strive for self-control. “Sit still,” he said shortly. “Ye know perfectly well it’s no the thing for you to be walking wi’ one o’ the Haywards. Mrs. Hayward, as ye’re maybe not unaware, complained about it last year—” “That’ll do, John,” interposed Miss Corrie, observing the girl’s burning cheeks. “We’re as good as the Haywards any day, but we’d best forget that affair. Now that Kitty’s heard about it, she’ll know what to do in future.” Kitty mastered the quiver of her pretty mouth, and with a quick movement brushed the tears from her dark eyes, and looked straight at her uncle. “Please tell me at once,” she said, “what Mr. Symington wanted with me.”