Late in the afternoon Sir George Stringer called. He entered awkwardly, as if he were afraid of meeting her; but the moment he saw her face he knew that something was the matter, and all his self-consciousness vanished. "I told you I should come again," he said; "there is no reason why I shouldn't look after my old friend's girl, is there?" "No, none," she answered, hardly able to collect her senses sufficiently to talk to him. He looked at her sharply. "Something's the matter," he said; "you have been crying?" "Oh no--yes, I have been crying; I am very homesick." He put his hand on hers as her father might have done. "Take my advice and go home, my dear," he said. "Is the stage fever over?" "Yes; I suppose that's over." He looked at her again, then suddenly he asked: "Has Tom Carringford been playing fast and loose with you?" "Don't ask me any questions, dear Sir George; I don't want to say anything at all. He is in Scotland with Lena Lakeman." "He is a fool," he said, with conviction. "So am I," she answered, ruefully. "And I'm another. My dear, I'm not going to ask you to tell me anything you want to keep to yourself." He stopped for a moment, then he asked, awkwardly, "I suppose what I asked you the other day is impossible?" For answer she only nodded, and her eyes filled with tears. "Then we won't say anything more about it." He took her hands and held them tightly in his own. "But I should like to be your friend--your father, if you like, till your own returns. If you can't go home to your mother, or if that young bounder at Guildford worries, or if there is any reason of that sort, why shouldn't you go to my house by the church and shut yourself up there? You would be very comfortable. I thought of going there myself, but I could easily go somewhere else." It seemed a good idea at first, and she caught at it, then she shook her head. "No," she said; "people would know and they would talk." "I suppose they would--damn them. I wish you'd tell me what Master Tom has been up to, dear." "I can't talk about him to-day, Sir George; I can't talk about anything--my head is so bad. I wish you would go now," she said, but so very gently it was impossible that he could be hurt, "and come and see me to-morrow; my mother is not well and I am worried. To-morrow I shall have thought out plans and will gladly talk them over with you. I want some one's help and advice." "I think you do," he answered, "and I'll come to-morrow, my dear."