"You can think _that_ of her!" Mr. Pope turned his chair to her. "But I _saw!_" Mrs. Pope shook her head. "She wasn't; she was struggling to get away from him. She told me so herself. I've been into it with her. You don't understand, Philip. A man like that has a sort of fascination for a girl. He dazzles her. It's the way with girls. But you're quite mistaken.... Quite. It's a sort of hypnotism. She'll grow out of it. Of course, she _loves_ Mr. Magnet. She does indeed. I've not a doubt of it. But----" "You're _sure_ she wasn't kissing him?" "Positive." "Then why didn't you say so?" "A girl's so complex. You didn't give her a chance. She's fearfully ashamed of herself--fearfully! but it's just because she _is_ ashamed that she won't admit it." "I'll make her admit it." "You ought to have had all boys," said Mrs. Pope. "Oh! she'll admit it some day--readily enough. But I believe a girl of her spirit would rather _die_ than begin explaining. You can't expect it of her. Really you can't." He grunted and shook his head slowly from side to side. She sat down in the arm-chair beside the desk. "I want to know just exactly what we are to do about the girl, Philip. I can't bear to think of her--up there." "How?" he asked. "Up there?" "Yes," she answered with that skilful inconsecutiveness of hers, and let a brief silence touch his imagination. "Do you think that man means to come here again?" she asked. "Chuck him out if he does," said Mr. Pope, grimly. She pressed her lips together firmly. She seemed to be weighing things painfully. "I wouldn't," she said at last. "What do you mean?" asked Mr. Pope. "I do not want you to make an open quarrel with Mr. Trafford." "_Not_ quarrel!" "Not an open one," said Mrs. Pope. "Of course I know how nice it would be if you _could_ use a horsewhip, dear. There's such a lot of things--if we only just slash. But--it won't help. Get him to go away. She's consented never to see him again--practically. She's ready to tell him so herself. Part them against their will--oh! and the thing may go on for no end of time. But treat it as it ought to be treated--She'll be very tragic for a week or so, and then she'll forget him like a dream. He _is_ a dream--a girl's dream.... If only we leave it alone, she'll leave it alone." § 6 Things were getting straight, Mrs. Pope felt. She had now merely to add a few touches to the tranquillization of Daphne, and the misdirection of the twin's curiosity. These touches accomplished, it seemed that everything was done. After a brief reflection, she dismissed the idea of putting things to Theodore. She ran over the possibilities of the servants eavesdropping, and found them negligible. Yes, everything was done--everything. And yet....