And the poor child, worn out with anxiety and lack of sleep, and in her sensitive pride and misery ready to turn on Connie and rend her, for having dared thus to play Lady Bountiful without warning or permission, sank into a chair, covered her face with her hands, and burst out sobbing. Connie handed back the letter, and hung her head. ‘Won’t you—won’t you let the person—who—sent the money remain unknown, Uncle Ewen?—as they wished to be?’ Uncle Ewen sat down before his writing-table and he also buried his face in his hands. Connie stood between them—as it were a prisoner at the bar—looking now very white and childish. ‘Dear Uncle Ewen⸺’ ‘How did you guess?’ said Nora vehemently, uncovering her face—‘I never said a word to you!’ Connie gave a tremulous laugh. ‘Do you think I couldn’t see—that you were all dreadfully unhappy about something? I—I made Alice tell me⸺’ ‘Alice is a sieve!’ cried Nora. ‘I knew, Father, we could never trust her.’ ‘And then’—Connie went on—‘I—I did an awful thing. I’d better tell you. I came and looked at Nora’s papers—in the school-room drawer. I saw that.’ She pointed penitentially to a sheet of figures lying on the study table. Both Nora and her uncle looked up in amazement, staring at her. ‘It was at night,’ she said hurriedly—‘last night. Oh, I put it all back!’—she turned, pleading, to Nora—‘just as I found it. You shouldn’t be angry with me—you shouldn’t indeed!’ Then her own voice began to shake. She came and laid her hand on her uncle’s shoulder. ‘Dear uncle Ewen—you know, I had that extra money! What did I want with it? Just think—if it had been Mamma! Wouldn’t you have let her help? You know you would! You couldn’t have been so unkind—Well then, I knew it would be no good, if I came and asked you—you wouldn’t have let me. So I—well, I just did it!’ Ewen Hooper rose from his table in great distress of mind. ‘But, my dear Connie—you are my ward—and I am your guardian! How can I let you give me money?’ ‘It’s my own money,’ said Connie firmly. ‘You know it is. Father wrote to you to say I might spend it _now_, as I liked—all there was, except the capital of my two thousand a year, which I mayn’t spend—till I’m twenty-five. This has nothing to do with that. I’m quite free—and so are you. _Do_ you think’—she drew herself up indignantly—‘that you’re going to make me happy—by turning me out, and all—all of you going to rack and ruin—when I’ve got that silly money lying in the bank? I won’t have it! I don’t want to go and live in the Cowley Road! I won’t go and live in the Cowley Road! You promised Father and Mother to look after me, Uncle Ewen, and it isn’t looking after me⸺’ ‘You can’t reproach me on that score as much as I do myself!’ said Ewen Hooper, with emotion. ‘There’s something in that I admit—there’s something in that.’