There was a something harsh and bitter in her tone which Geoffrey had never remarked before. It jarred on his ear; but he did not further notice it. His eyes dropped a little as he said, "No, I didn't; I do not know your name." She looked up at him from under her eyelids; and the harshness had all faded out of her voice as she said, "My name is Margaret Dacre." She stopped, and looked at him; but his face only wore its grave honest smile. Then she suddenly raised herself on the sofa, and looking straight into his face, said hurriedly, "You are a kind man, Mr. Ludlow; a kind, generous, honourable man; there are many men would have given me food and shelter--there are very few who would have done it unquestioning, as you have." "You were my guest, Miss Dacre, and that was enough, though the temptation was strong. How one evidently born and bred a lady could have--" "Ah, now," said she, smiling fainting, "you are throwing off your bonds, and all man's curiosity is at work." "No, on my honour; but--I don't know whether you know, but any one acquainted with the world would see that--gad! I scarcely know how to put it--but--fact is, that--people would scarcely understand--you must excuse me, but--but the position, Miss Dacre!" and Geoff pushed his hands through his hair, and knew that his cheeks were flaming. "I see what you mean," said she, "and you are only explaining what I have for the last day or two felt myself; that the--the position must be altered. But you have so far been my friend, Mr. Ludlow--for I suppose the preserver of one's life is to be looked upon as a friend, at all events as one actuated by friendly motives--that I must ask you to advise me how to support it." "It would be impossible to advise unless--I mean, unless one knew, or had some idea--what, in fact, one had been accustomed to." The girl sat up on the sofa, and this time looked him steadily in the face for a minute or so. Then she said, in a calm unbroken voice, "You are coming to what I knew must arise, to what is always asked, but what I hitherto have always refused to tell. You, however, have a claim to know--what I suppose people would call my history." Her thin lips were tightly pressed and her nostrils curved in scorn as she said these words. Geoffrey marked the change, and spoke out at once, all his usual hesitation succumbing before his earnestness of purpose. "I have asked nothing," said he; "please to remember that; and further, I wish to hear nothing. You are my guest for so long as it pleases you to remain in that position. When you wish to go, you will do so, regretted but certainly unquestioned." If Geoffrey Ludlow ever looked handsome, it was at this moment. He was a little nettled at being suspected of patronage, and the annoyance flushed his cheek and fired his eyes.