“I suppose that if Mr. Picklebody could get in we can get out now.” “Can and will,” rejoined McVay beamingly. “Hen comes as he has always come to his friends, as a rescuer.” “I seem to require a great deal of rescuing,” said the girl, looking up at the monopolist in the art who had so far said nothing. “Ah, but you don’t understand, my dear,” went on McVay ruthlessly cutting into the look which the lovers were exchanging; “You don’t yet understand how fortunate we are in our friends. Henderson did not, it is true, come to find me. It was the greatest coincidence his meeting me here. It seems that he and Holland are both interested in a mine in Mexico, and what do you think?” McVay paused and rubbed his hands; “Really, we have the kindest friends; they have been arranging between them to offer me a job down there. What do you think of that?” Cecilia who had been trying to imagine any future after they left the shelter of the grey stone house, would have answered if she had been thoroughly candid that she thought Mexico was a terribly long distance away, but she only observed: “How very kind of them. I am sure we shall like Mexico.” “There, there, do you hear that? ‘We.’ Gentlemen,” cried McVay, throwing up his hands, “I cannot leave my sister alone,—deserted. Consider it all off.” “Oh, I wasn’t to go?” asked Cecilia, looking up with more enthusiasm. “My dear,” replied McVay, “I must own that I was base enough to consider a plan that would separate us. The mine, it seems, is no place for ladies. But we will think no more about it. I see by your manner that your feelings...” “Dear Billy,” said the girl gently, “you must not give it up. You know that I can always go to the Lees, until—until I get a position. And nothing is so important as that you should have work that is satisfactory to you. Of course you must accept.” “Did you ever hear anything so noble?” asked McVay. “Yes, I suppose I ought to accept. So they both tell me. I must go, mustn’t I, Hen?” “Well, it looks like it would be better for you if you did,” replied the detective, who had fortunately his legitimate share of American humour. “There is another point, Cecilia,” McVay went on, “if I do accept, I shall have to leave at once. When did you say, Hen?” “Train to New York this afternoon,—steamer sails to-morrow.” “Oh, dear. That’s very sudden,” said Cecilia. “At a word from you, dear, I’ll give it up,” remarked McVay. “No, no, of course not. I should never forgive myself. You must go. Perhaps it is all the better that I did not know beforehand. It saves me just that amount.” “We’ve no time to lose,” remarked McVay briskly, “if we are going to try for that afternoon train. I suppose we can get a sleigh at the gardener’s, Holland, if we can struggle as far as that. Well, well, we must hurry off.”