“But you are quite wrong if you think----” “I don’t think anything; I never did. I have been a soldier, you know, not a philosopher. I can act, you see; I could run down to Carstow to fetch you; but having done so, I have for the time given up all thought about our errand, and the numerous difficulties this business has thrown me into.” “Indeed!” said Deborah gravely, “I can’t think about it clearly; it has come upon me like a misfortune which one has dreamed about all night and which happens in the daytime.” Lord St. Austell shivered, and Deborah saw that his face had turned quite grey, and that his eyes moved restlessly, as if trying to escape the sight of some haunting object. He opened one of the pile of papers he had hastily bought at the station, and asked her opinion upon one of the public topics of the day. But that his mind was more burdened by the object of their journey than he chose to confess was proved by a remark into which he burst quite abruptly after a long silence. “This young scamp Rees has a wonderful fascination about him. He has bewitched one of my own daughters. I caught them together last night at the house of some miserable little snob.” “Lady Marion?” said Deborah quietly. “What? You have heard?” “Oh, that has been well known for a long time.” “To every one but me, I suppose?” “I should think so.” “Well, your confession that a woman can become disgusted with even a worthless man gives me hope.” “I did not speak for every woman, remember,” said Deborah warningly. Her caution was justified. At Paddington, waiting for the train from Carstow, stood poor Lady Marion, leaner, more hatchet-faced than ever, in a long cloak and a shabby black hat, looking old enough for her own mother. Deborah saw her first, and jumping quickly out of the carriage, went up to her. The poor thing looked at the handsome girl before her with angry eyes, and would have turned her back and walked on. Deborah was not to be daunted. “We have come to try and save Rees,” she whispered, following her. Lady Marion turned quickly. “To save him! Ah, yes, _you_,” she added immediately, in a bitterly envious tone. “He loves you.” “Well, if you care for him, surely the great thing is that he should be saved,” urged the other persuasively. Lady Marion had stopped reluctantly, and she now looked everywhere but at Deborah’s beautiful face. “But papa, what does he say?” Before her companion could answer, Lord St. Austell was beside them. He looked coldly and sternly at his daughter. “Come down here, out of the crowd,” said he. “I wish to speak to you.” He took her arm and led her down the platform to the almost deserted end, which is, morning and evening, piled with huge milk cans going and returning between the London dairies and the country. Deborah followed them at a long distance, and waited. The earl addressed his daughter very coldly.