Turning into the college, he went straight on to the sitting-room, where Miss Brabazon was, to all appearance, alone. Rose was behind the curtain at the far end of the room, ostensibly learning her German, for Mr. Henry would be due in ten minutes; really buried in a charming fairy-tale book, lent to her by Jessie Gall. And her sister had forgotten she was there. "What is it that these rascally boys have picked up against that poor young German master?" began Sir Simon, in his impulsive fashion. "Do you know, Miss Emma?" Emma Brabazon laid down the pretty baskets of flowers she was arranging for the evening; for her married brothers and sisters and their children were coming that day on their usual Christmas sojourn. But she did not answer. "Trace has been talking to me about the lost pencil," resumed Sir Simon. "But _surely_ it is a slander to suspect him of having taken it. Miss Emma, I'd lay my life he is as honest as I am; and he's a vast deal more of a gentleman." "It was very foolish of Trace to speak of it," she said. "Pray forget it, Sir Simon. The thing has dropped." "But did you suspect him? You must forgive me, my dear, for asking you these questions; I intended to ask Dr. Brabazon, not you, but I find he is out." "And I am very glad he is, Sir Simon, for I have never told papa. There were circumstances that seemed to throw a suspicion on Mr. Henry at the time, but they were so doubtful that it was best not to speak of them; and I desired Trace—who was the one to bring them under my notice—to let them die away." "Oh, Trace brought them to you, did he? But how do you mean they were doubtful?" "In so far as that Mr. Henry, if applied to, might have been able to explain them all away. It would have been very cruel to bring accusation against any one on grounds so slight." "Just so. Well, my dear lady, I'd stake Pond Place against Mr. Raymond Trace's prejudices, that the young man is as upright as he is—perhaps more so. We poor sinners shan't be able to stand in Master Trace's presence with our hats on soon; he must be going on for heaven head-foremost, he must, with all this self-righteousness." Emma Brabazon laughed, and followed Sir Simon out, talking. Upon which Miss Rose emerged from her hiding-place to escape, her German book in her hand, and the fairy tale stuffed up her frock. "What did they mean?" debated the young lady, who had but imperfectly understood. "If I could find out, I'd tell him. He is always kind to me with my German, though I am so tiresome. I hate that Trace: he never gives me anything; and he stole one of my letters out of Dick's drawer the other day, and made game of it."