“Yes,” replied she innocently. “Although he did not give his name, Miss Graham took it for granted, from the way he spoke, that he was some relation or old friend of ours, until he saw me; and then, when I didn’t recognize him, and he said merely that he was an old friend of our father’s, she began to think it rather strange. However, I’m bound to say he was very nice, and that I was quite glad to see him; and if Miss Graham hadn’t thought it odd, I don’t know that I should have done so. Why shouldn’t an old friend of my father’s come and see me?” “Why, the strange part of it was his not giving his name, of course,” said Gerard. “Yes, I suppose so. He looked like a military man, with his white mustache and way of holding himself; and most of our old friends are or were in the army. So I asked him and he said ‘Yes,’ and that he had been in the army some years ago. That was all. But very likely Rachel will know more about him.” Gerard sincerely hoped that Rachel would not have reason to regret the appearance of the military-looking man who had been in the army, and would not give his name. But the strange episode suggested to his mind that the police were making inquires about the Davisons, and that the white-mustached gentleman would prove to be one of their emissaries. “It’s very strange that neither she nor Lady Jennings should be back to dinner, isn’t it?” she went on. “It’s past eight, and they usually dine at half-past seven, I know; and I’m so dreadfully hungry!” “Are you going back to Richmond to-night?” “I hope not,” replied she merrily; “because I should like Lady Jennings to invite me to stay the night, and to take me to a theatre. But it’s getting too late for anything that begins before nine!” she added with a sudden change to a dismal look, as she glanced at the ormolu clock which stood on a bracket on the wall. “I should have thought you’d be having holidays now,” said he, “at the end of July.” “Yes, we have broken up, and I’m only staying on there until Rachel has made up her mind what I’m to do during the holidays. Perhaps she and I and mamma shall all go away together somewhere, but it depends on Rachel’s work,” she added, with a sort of earnest pride that seemed to Gerard infinitely touching. “It’s very irregular, this work of hers,” he said, in a voice which shook in spite of himself. He wanted to learn what he could, but it seemed dreadful to have to talk about it to this child, who rejoiced so openly in her sister’s cleverness, and had no thought of harm or of wrong.