“It is mine, with all my heart--anything you believe,” said Fanshawe, very wretched, and yet once more with that glimmering of fun which spoilt the pathos of so many a fine situation. Marjory, at this moment, was not inclined to see any humour in it. She went on severely, and with a tremendous courtesy which shrivelled him up. “I could not, of course, ask you, whose experience in every way is much greater than mine, to adopt my opinion; and nothing but a momentary hallucination, which I hope you will be so very kind as to excuse, could have made me think of transferring to you my work. I beg your pardon for it. It is the absurd way in which we are accustomed to have things done for us--the difficulty a woman finds in moving anywhere without a host of explanations. But pray forgive me; feeling as I do, it is my business to complete poor Agnes’s work, and clear up the matter, whatever it may cost me. Of course, there is no reason in the world why I should not do it myself.” “You reject my assistance, then!” said Fanshawe, ruefully. “You take it out of my hands? Miss Heriot, is that fair?” “I do nothing of the kind,” she said; “it is a very important question to me; but not, as stands to reason, with you. You had never heard of the Heriots six months ago, Mr. Fanshawe. It is the most absurd thing in the world to suppose that their interests could be of supreme importance to you.” And she held out her hand once more with that steady smile of polite offence and mortification, for the papers which he still held. He stood for a moment irresolute, looking at her; then he drew out his watch. “Yes,” he said; “I see I have just half an hour to catch the next train. I am off, Miss Heriot. The notes are vague enough, but still possible. ‘Suspected to have gone into service as a porter at one of the hotels in one of the Channel Islands; but may have gone to Australia or New Zealand.’ That was a puzzler, I allow, for our friend, who did her journeys on foot. You shall hear from the nearest of these places as soon as possible; and in the meantime, I may as well, I think, send advertisements to all the papers for John Macgregor--that is worth trying.” “But, Mr. Fanshawe, I must not--I cannot--accept such a sacrifice.” “You will say good-bye to me,” he said, holding her hand; “and think of me--say once a day, will you, Miss Heriot? Let me see, the best time would be in the afternoon, when one is apt to get low. Think of me then--say from four to half-past four,” he said, with once more that gleam of fun in his eye. “And I hope I shall not have to go to Australia.” Then he made a momentary pause, and looked at her wistfully again. “Will you come to meet me?” he said. “When I come back?” “Mr. Fanshawe! I beg, I entreat!” “But you must promise,” he said, with a short laugh. “Good-bye; till we meet again.”