"Why, as to that, Miss Cheffington, I don't think she is. From what I can make out, she's the kind of person that never can realize to themselves that fifteen minutes, one after the other, end to end, make up a quarter of an hour. She lost a lot of time here talking, and I saw her stop to tell the young woman at the bar over yonder what a hurry she was in. No; I make no doubt but what she'll be back before we start, but not just yet awhile." The roast chicken and some freshly made tea were brought in due course, and Mr. Bragg had the satisfaction of seeing May partake of both. Then he professed his readiness to hear what she wished to say. "Are you comfortable? Light not too much for you? There! Now--provided you don't overtire yourself, nor yet what you might call overtry yourself--I'm listening." He sat down in a chair nearly opposite to the fire, so that his profile was turned to May, and looked thoughtfully into the hot coals, folding his arms in an attitude of massive quietude which was characteristic of him. "First of all, you must let me thank you for all your kindness," said May. "No, don't do that," he answered, without removing his gaze from the fire. Then he repeated musingly, "No, no; don't do that! Don't ye do that!" Then ensued a pause. It lasted so long that Mr. Bragg, glancing round at the girl, said-- "That wasn't all you had in your mind to say, was it?" "No, Mr. Bragg." "Perhaps you've changed your mind about speaking? Well, don't you worrit yourself. You do just what you feel most agreeable to yourself, you know." "But I want to speak! I was so anxious to tell you----This chance, which I could never have expected or dreamt of, gives me the opportunity, and now--now I don't know how to begin!" He was silent for a moment, pondering. Then he said, "Could I help you? I wonder if it is about a certain conversation you and me had together a few days back?" "Yes--partly." "Well, now, you remember that on that occasion I said to you that I hoped we might be friends, you and me--real, true friends. You remember, don't you?" "Gratefully." "Well, I meant what I said. If you have been----" He was about to say "persecuted," but changed the word. "If you have been any way bothered in consequence of that conversation, I'm truly sorry for it. But don't let it make any difference as between you and me. Your aunt, Mrs. Dormer-Smith, she's a most well-meaning lady, and has beautiful manners. But she's liable to make mistakes like the rest of us. And don't you fret, you know. You're going to your grandmother, Mrs. Dobbs, you tell me. And she's a woman of wonderful good sense. She'll understand some things better than what your aunt can. It'll be all right. Don't you worrit yourself." He spoke in a gentle, soothing tone, such as one might use to a child, and kept nodding his head slowly as he spoke, still with his eyes fixed on the fire. "It isn't that! I mean--I wanted to tell you something!"