"Humph!" said Sir George to himself, "trust Hilda for knowing what she's about. Well," he added, aloud, "I didn't think it was a good thing for that girl to be here in London alone, and I knew that you were due in Scotland and belonged to the Lakemans--" "To the Lakemans?" Tom repeated, rather bewildered. "So, when I went round to see her just now, I thought the only way out of the difficulty was--was--well, the fact is, I asked her to marry me." "Lor'!" Tom said, and opened his blue eyes very wide. "What did she say?" "Wouldn't look at me. Now, of course, I feel that I have made a fool of myself, and upon my life I haven't the courage to go near her again for a bit. Think I'll run over to Dieppe and shake it off. What I want to say is"--he stopped, for it suddenly occurred to him that he might be mismanaging things all round. "Something must be done about the girl, you know," he said. Tom held out his hand. "It's all right," he answered; "don't worry about her; I'll see that she doesn't come to grief." Sir George looked back at him and understood. "I know you are a good boy," he said, and grasped Tom's hand, "and will do the best you can. Don't think me an old fool. I did it as much for her sake as my own. I shall come back next week and look her up again before I go to Chidhurst." And he took his departure. But Tom stayed behind, and thought things over more seriously than was his wont. "I wish Mrs. Lakeman would be quiet, or Lena would get better. I ought to go to them, I suppose, but can't till this matter is settled." Then he went down to the theatre and fetched Margaret from her rehearsal; it was nearly three o'clock before it was over. "I have had two telegrams," she told him. "Mr. Farley, I suppose, told Mrs. Lakeman that I was in London, and she has sent me this." He took it from her and read: "Come and stay with us here. Pitlochry--train leaves Euston to-morrow night at eight; meet you at Perth; ask Farley to see you off." Mrs. Lakeman was always practical and full of detail. The other telegram was from Lena, and ran: "Do come, little Margaret; we want you." "What are you going to do?" asked Tom. "I telegraphed back, 'Thank you very much, but quite impossible.'" "Good! good!" but his voice was a little absent. He was becoming serious. Miss Hunstan had written, but from a cheering point of view; for she, too, had once set out on her way through the world alone. "I wish I'd been there to receive you," she said in her letter; "but when I come back you will be in your rooms above, and I in mine beneath. We must be friends and help each other." "It's just like her," said Tom; "but she's a dear, you know. By-the-way, I saw Stringer just now; he told me he had been to see you." "Yes," Margaret answered, uneasily. They were in a hansom by this time, driving to Great College Street. "What did he say?" asked Tom, maliciously.