"And--forgive me if I seem intrusive; but, if you will bear with me, you will see that mine is not a merely impertinent intention--your wardrobe is limited?" "I have no other clothes except those I have on. "And--forgive me again--those are not fresh from the dressmaker?" "Indeed they are not. I have had this dress---- At the convent I had one dress a year; this is my last year's frock." "What has become of your hat? Don't you generally wear one?" "Oh yes, I wear one, but I left the one hat I had behind at the hotel." "I told you that I went into Newcaster to do some shopping; and among other things I bought the contents of this parcel. If you'll take it to the room in which you spent the night I think it possible that you'll find it contains some articles which may be of use to you. While you're trying them on to see if they're any sort of a fit I'll be putting things to rights; and harnessing that horse of mine, who's very much mistaken if he thinks that he's in for a whole day's holiday." She stared at him in amaze. "Why should you buy things for me?" "Why shouldn't I? You are Frances Vernon's friend; and she's a young lady whom I happen to know rather a deal about." "But that's no reason why you should buy things for me!--you know it's no reason!--you know it's not!" "Pray don't imagine that I'm offering to give you these things; I've expressed myself ill if I've conveyed that impression. An exact account of their cost will be rendered to you, for which I shall receive payment in due course." "From whom will you receive payment?--from me? How can you imagine that I shall be able to pay you; when, as I tell you, I haven't a penny; and don't suppose I ever shall have one." "As a man, Miss Gilbert, you must allow me to understand commercial matters better than you do--as a business man I know I shall be paid, in full; so please make your mind easy on that score. When you have changed your clothes--and I think that, considering all things, the sooner you do change them the better--and I have stuck my steed between the shafts, I will drive you, at the rate of about four miles an hour, to a railway station; then, with your permission, acting as your personal conductor, I will take you, with the help of a train, to Mrs Vernon's house. Mrs Vernon is Frances Vernon's mother; and is by way of being some sort of a kind of a relation of my own. She will be delighted to give you house room, until inquiries have been made into the truth of Mr Emmett's statements, as to your father being dead and his having left no money--I feel sure he did leave money, or Emmett would never have paid that bill at the convent; to say nothing of his having expressed a wish to marry you--and in short, till your affairs are placed upon a regular footing." "Which may be never. Why should Mrs Vernon give me what you call house room?"