She shook her head. “I sent my aunt my address, and told her I was all right, but she has not answered. Well, I’m not so surprised at that as at not hearing from Sam, the postman. It was he who helped me to get away—” “Won’t you begin at the beginning?” “Very well—only you must promise not to discuss it afterwards. It’s not a pretty story, Colin, and only in self-protection did I ask Hilda to tell it to-night. Well, here it is.” She told it simply and in few words, and he heard her to the end without a single interruption. Now and then, indeed, when her voice wavered, he would have given all his future to have taken her for one moment into his arms. The incident of the £100 brought a flush to his face, while he blessed the thought that had caused him to send her the means for escape; but the tale of her uncle’s hideous treachery turned him ghastly with wrath and pity. “And so,” she finished, “the journey that started so miserably ended most wonderfully, and here I am with all my dreams come true”—she gave a small rueful laugh—“except one. For I used to dream of being brave and independent and even adventurous; and now—” “Oh, Kitty, thank God you didn’t arrive in London alone!” he exclaimed. “I do,” she returned softly. “I was a little fool to imagine I could ever have stood alone and made my own way. I’m self-supporting now with my typing, but that’s all thanks to Hilda. Colin, did you ever hear of anything so wonderful as the way things have turned out for me? Do you know, once or twice I’ve thought it might all have been planned out by Mr. Risk—that he, for my father’s sake, might have been secretly watching over me. . . . Some day, when I know him better, I’ll ask him straight about the £100. Don’t you think I might do that?” “Certainly,” said Colin cheerfully. “And so now you are perfectly happy, Kitty?” “Yes, I am!” she answered, with just a trace of defiance. She was not going to admit that there was something lacking, and perhaps she was not quite sure what the “something” was. And, of course, it was nothing to her that Colin, earlier in the evening, had appeared to be greatly taken with Hilda—and Hilda’s lovely eyes! Later, he mentioned that West and he desired to take her and Hilda to a theatre on the coming Friday. Kitty had already been to several theatres, yet, somehow, the prospect thrilled her more than it had done prior to previous visits, though her acceptance of the invitation, given subject to Hilda’s approval, was little more than polite. They were nearly home when Colin said rather diffidently— “I’ve promised not to discuss Dunford or the people there, but, Kitty, I’d just like to hear that you are no longer afraid of that wretched worm, Symington.” After a moment she replied: “No, Colin. For that moment, at dinner, I was afraid, horribly afraid, I admit. But I’ve got over it. For what can the man do?” CHAPTER XVIII