“That’s all right, then,” said Robert, cheerfully. “That encourages me to go to still further lengths. You’ve got to tell me all about it. I forgot to tell you, but I’m a real partner in the firm now. I’ve got a hard and fast share in the profits—had it last Wednesday; since when I have already grown two inches. In exchange for this confidence I await yours. You must speak a little louder if you want me to hear.” “I didn’t say anything,” said the girl. “You are wasting time, then,” said Robert, shaking his head. “And that eldest girl of yours may come in at any moment.” Despite her utmost efforts Miss Hartley failed to repress a smile; greatly encouraged, Mr. Vyner placed a chair for her and took one by her side. “Tell me everything, and I shall know where we are,” he said, in a low voice. “I would rather—” began Miss Hartley. “Yes, I know,” interrupted Mr. Vyner, with great gravity; “but we were not put into this world to please ourselves. Try again.” Miss Hartley endeavoured to turn the conversation, but in vain. In less than ten minutes, with a little skilful prompting, she had told him all. “I didn’t think that it was quite so bad as that,” said Robert, going very red. “I am very sorry—very. I can’t think what my father was about, and I suppose, in the first place, that it was my fault.” “Yours?” exclaimed Joan. “For not displaying more patience,” said Robert, slowly. “But I was afraid of—of being forestalled.” Miss Hartley succeeded in divesting her face of every atom of expression. Robert Vyner gazed at her admiringly. “I am glad that you understand me,” he murmured. “It makes things easier for me. I don’t suppose that you have the faintest idea how shy and sensitive I really am.” Miss Hartley, without even troubling to look at him, said that she was quite sure she had not. “Nobody has,” said Robert, shaking his head, “but I am going to make a fight against it. I am going to begin now. In the first place I want you not to think too hardly of my father. He has been a very good father to me. We have never had a really nasty word in our lives.” “I hope you never will have,” said Joan, with some significance. “I hope not,” said Robert; “but in any case I want to tell you—” Miss Hartley snatched away the hand he had taken, and with a hasty glance at the door retreated a pace or two from him. “What is the matter?” he inquired, in a low voice. Miss Hartley’s eyes sparkled. “My eldest daughter has just come in,” she said, demurely. “I think you had better go.” CHAPTER XXIII