‘Dishonourably! Why, you know nothing. Every one in Manchester knows it by this time. There’s been precious little honour wasted on the whole business, my lass. We know what to think when the men make away with themselves one way or another, and leave the women and the debts behind them.’ ‘But my father--it was his misfortune--he did not----’ ‘The less said about your father’s transactions, for the last six weeks, the better,’ said Mr. Bamford, curtly. ‘Consider Miss Spenceley’s feelings, sir!’ interposed Sebastian, unable to endure seeing Helena’s despair, and feeling a glow almost of hatred towards Mr. Bamford, and what struck him as his brutality. Helena had turned away and covered her face with her hand, as a man might do who is sorely hit on some vital point--it was more a man’s gesture than a woman’s. Neither groan nor cry escaped her, but Sebastian saw that the iron had entered into her soul. That which she endured was the keenest moral anguish--the supremest of all pains. He could understand it. Her beauty was enhanced: the reckless, impetuous girl, with her ‘disorganised’ ideas, which he had laughed at before now, was transformed into the noble woman, who must bear things which only women can or do bear--the punishment for the sins of their masculine shields and protectors. ‘She has had a very severe shock already,’ he went on, ‘and it cannot be necessary to pain her with----’ ‘She must know the truth, and the sooner the better,’ said Mr. Bamford, irascibly. ‘If she is a girl of spirit, she will not wish to be deceived, and anyhow her whole life will have to be changed, and come down a peg or two, for the sins of her father shall be visited upon her.’ ‘You are very kind, Mr. Mallory,’ said Helena, turning to them again and speaking calmly, though her face had, even in those few minutes, taken an older, worn expression, which shocked Sebastian. ‘I wish to know the worst at once. I can bear it. I did not know there had been anything dishonourable. Go on, uncle. I am not afraid, and I must know what I have to tell my mother.’ ‘By ----, the lass has a spirit of her own!’ observed Mr. Bamford. ‘Now that I see what she’s made of, I may try to explain things to her a bit.’ ‘Then I will leave you,’ said Sebastian. ‘Miss Spenceley will tell you that I made what arrangements were immediately necessary. I shall take the liberty of calling soon,’ he added to Helena, ‘in the hope that I may be of some assistance to you. May I?’ ‘You are very kind,’ she said, still with the same unmoved calm, as she gave him her hand. ‘I shall be glad to see you whenever you call. Perhaps, another time I can thank you better for your goodness; but at present----’ ‘Pray do not thank me; there is not the very least necessity,’ said he, as he left the room. ‘Now, Uncle Robert!’ said Helena. ‘Who is that young fellow?’ ‘Mr. Sebastian Mallory.’ ‘Young Mallory of the Oakenrod, who has been acting the philanthropist since he came from abroad?’