Blanche could not help exchanging a look of amazement with Lois, nor could it escape her notice that the telltale crimson mounted to Miss Turquand’s cheeks, just now so pale. “Captain Desfrayne! An unexpected pleasure,” said Lady Quaintree, extending her hand, though secretly ill pleased. “Quite so,” answered Captain Desfrayne, himself anything but delighted. “I had not the most distant idea you and Miss Turquand intended to quit Flore Hall so soon.” He could not hinder his eyes from wandering to Lois’ face. The young girl, filled with anger at his inconsistent conduct, averted her head, and gazed from the window. When she stole a glance at him again, he was looking from the window on his side, his face clouded by the care and trouble that seemed rarely absent. Nobody said much during the journey; for subjects of conversation were not readily found, and even Blanche had abundant matter for mental consideration. To Lois and Paul Desfrayne, it seemed like a dream more than reality. The thickly clustered houses, the red-tiled roofs and chimney-pots began to give intimation that they were nearing London. “We may not hope, then, to see much of you this week, at any rate?” Lady Quaintree observed, shaking herself out of a brief slumber. He shook his head. “I must go back to Holston as soon as I can,” he replied. The express slackened speed, and at last rolled into the terminus. Gerald was waiting for his mother on the platform. He assisted her from the carriage, leaving the care of the two young girls to Captain Desfrayne. Lady Quaintree eagerly paused to make anxious inquiries about her husband. She had moved on a few steps, and Captain Desfrayne felt he must offer some kind of excuse to Lois for not affording her the clue to his mysterious behavior he had promised. He laid a tremulous hand on her wrist, and drew her some steps away from her friend. “Miss Turquand,” he said eagerly, looking her full in the face, a deeply troubled, excited expression in his eyes, “I must entreat of you not to judge me harshly, but with mercy and kindness. I merit all your pity. I am a most unhappy man. It would have been well if I could have explained my position last night, as I meant to do; but this is no time or place to end the conversation then begun and interrupted. May I beseech you to suspend your judgment until I have been able to tell you how I am circumstanced?” “I have no right to judge you,” said Lois coldly. “If you are unhappy, you have my pity.” She felt piqued that he fixed no time for giving her the promised explanation. He left her still mystified. “Will you give me your promise not to condemn me until you have heard my story?” urged Paul Desfrayne. “I repeat, I have no right to judge you,” said Lois. “Those who have the care of me and my affairs have the best right to hear what you have to say.”