The Captain took up his rod, examined the reel, and then switched its limber length tentatively through the air. It was embarrassing, after all, this recognition of his daughter's life. "Now your mother doesn't know," he pursued; "Odd seemed rather anxious that she should; rather unfeeling of him too, I thought it. There was no necessity for that, was there? It would have quite killed her, wouldn't it? Quite." "You need neither of you have known." All she was wondering about, trying to grasp, made Hilda pale. "It came about most naturally; and, if mamma's illness and that other unpleasant episode had not broken me down, my modest business might have come to an end--no one the wiser for it. Mr. Odd exaggerated the whole thing no doubt." "Well, I don't know." The Captain now sat down on the chair with a sigh of some relief. "It's off my mind at all events. I wanted to express my--pain, you know, and my gratitude--and to say what a jolly trump I thought you; that kind of thing." "Dear papa, I don't deserve it." "Ah, well, Odd isn't the man to make misstatements, you know. A bit of dreamer, unpractical, no doubt. But he sees facts as clearly as any one, you know. He showed it all clearly. Rather cutting, to tell you the truth. Of course he's very fond of you; that's natural. This sad affair of Katherine's; if it hadn't been for that, you and he would be brother and sister by this time." It was Hilda's turn now to draw in a little breath of relief. At all events her father was no ally. No other secret had been told, and she saw, now that the dread had gone, that any cause for it would have involved an indelicacy towards Katherine of which she knew Odd to be incapable. "Where is he--Mr. Odd?" she asked, steeling herself to the question. The look of gloom which touched the Captain's face anew, confirmed Hilda in her certainty of infinite pecuniary obligation. "Not at home. Travelling again, I believe. A man can't sit down quietly under a blow like that." A flush came over Hilda's face. Part of her punishment was evident. She must hear Katherine spoken of as the fickle, shallow-hearted, while she, guilt-stained, answerable for all, went undiscovered and crowned with praises. Yet Katherine herself--any woman--would choose the part Odd had given her--the part of jilt rather than jilted; and she, Hilda, was helpless. "Papa," she asked, driving in the dagger up to the hilt--she could at least punish herself, if no one else could punish her--"where is Katherine? Is she not coming to stay with us?" The Captain swung one leg over the other with impatience. "I've hardly heard from her; she is with the Leonards in London. Odd spoke very highly of her; seemed to think she had acted honorably; but, naturally, Katherine must feel that she has behaved badly." "I am sure she has not done that, papa. She found that she would not be happy with him."