"Yes, Miss. I’ve written to her twice since Christmas, not to speak of sending a coloured post-card from Malvern, and she hasn’t answered never so much as a word." This pricked me. I had heard it before; and, knowing as I did that Susan had neither father nor mother, nor brother nor sister, I ought to have put two and two together, and deduced the fact that Susan was alone in the world. But I had not been interested or unselfish enough to work it out. "Of course, of course," I said. "I’d forgotten. But, Susan, why have you not spoken about it to me? When I found you had no parents, didn’t I tell you that if you were in any doubt or trouble you were always to come to me?" "Yes, Miss," answered Susan as dutifully as before. And she went on brushing my hair. I got up impatiently, and went and sat in my big chair by the window. "No," I said. "Never mind my hair for a minute. Susan, I’m very much disappointed and put out. You are not treating either me or yourself fairly. With things as they are, I feel responsible for you. All this is very serious. You are young, and you have no experience." Susan standing three feet away with lowered head, heard me out deferentially, although she knows quite well that I am six months her junior, and that it is hardly a year since I began to look after my own affairs. She simply said: "Yes, Miss." "Susan, look at me. Don’t hang your head. Is this man respectable?" "Oh, yes, Miss!" "He says so himself, no doubt. But the world’s full of very strange people. Who is he? Where does he come from? What is his name?" Susan hung her head again, and did not answer. I saw that she had something to hide, so I tried another way. "How far has it gone?" "Well, Miss," she faltered after a pause. "He--he’s asked me." "When?" "Yesterday, Miss." "What did you say?" "I didn’t say anything, Miss." "Susan, don’t be ridiculous. You mean, you didn’t say ’No.’ You encouraged him?" "Oh, no, Miss." "Susan, I won’t be trifled with. Either you encouraged him or you didn’t. Which was it? You surely don’t expect me to believe that, after he’d asked you, he was content to walk away again without any kind of an answer?" "Please, Miss, he didn’t ask me that way. It was in a letter." "A letter! Susan, I hope you’ve said ’No.’ Have nothing at all to do with him. A letter, indeed! Why didn’t he speak out like a man to your face?" "Please, Miss, he couldn’t." "Couldn’t? Why not?" "Because I’ve never seen him." I burst out laughing. The affair was a trifle after all. At the most and worst it was some village moon-calf’s clumsy wooing; at the least (and likeliest) it was a practical joke. But Susan thought otherwise. I stopped laughing at the sight of her proud flush and pain. "Come, Susan," I coaxed, "be a sensible girl. It’s some stupid joke." "No, Miss," said Susan firmly. "Then what have you done? Have you sent a reply?"