"Oh, one does not fancy those things," she said. "Lady Deringham has been coldly civil to me ever since, and nothing more. This morning she seemed absolutely pleased to have an excuse for sending me away. She knows quite well, of course, that Lord Deringham is--not himself; but she took everything he said for gospel, and turned me out of the house. There, now you know everything. Perhaps after all it was idiotic to come to you. Well, I'm only a girl, and girls are idiots; I haven't a friend in the world, and if I were alone I should die of loneliness in a week. You won't send me away? You are not angry with me?" She made a movement towards him, but he held her hands tightly. For the first time he began to see his way before him. A certain ingenuousness in her speech and in that little half-forgotten note--an ingenuousness, by the bye, of which he had some doubts--was his salvation. He would accept it as absolutely genuine. She was a child who had come to him, because he had been kind to her. "Of course I am not angry with you," he said, quite emphatically. "I am very glad indeed that you came. It is only right that I should help you when my people seem to have treated you so wretchedly. Let me think for a moment." She watched him very anxiously, and moved a little closer to him. "Tell me," she murmured, "what are you thinking about?" "I have it," he answered, standing suddenly up and touching the bell. "It is an excellent idea." "What is it?" she asked quickly. He did not appear to hear her question. Selby was standing upon the threshold. Wolfenden spoke to him. "Selby, are your wife's rooms still vacant?" Selby believed that they were. "That's all right then. Put on your hat and coat at once. I want you to take this young lady round there." "Very good, my lord." "Her luggage has been lost and may not arrive until to-morrow. Be sure you tell Mrs. Selby to do all in her power to make things comfortable." The girl had gone very pale. Wolfenden, watching her closely, was surprised at her expression. "I think," he said, "that you will find Mrs. Selby a very decent sort of a person. If I may, I will come and see you to-morrow, and you shall tell me how I can help you. I am very glad indeed that you came to me." She shot a single glance at him, partly of anger, partly reproach. "You are very, very kind," she said slowly, "and very considerate," she added, after a moment's pause. "I shall not forget it." She looked him then straight in the eyes. He was more glad than he would have liked to confess even to himself to hear Selby's knock at the door. "You have nothing to thank me for yet at any rate," he said, taking her hand. "I shall be only too glad if you will let me be of service to you."