Mr Payne glanced at me. I could feel that he was--I beg pardon of his kind memory even now, dear good man, for my disrespect--I could feel that he was dying of curiosity to learn how much I know of Millflowers and its neighbourhood, and I had a slightly mischievous satisfaction in keeping him in the dark. It was a sort of tit-for-tat; for after all, my own eagerness to hear the whole story could not but be greater than his, already in possession as he was of the main facts. And as I surreptitiously peeped from behind the drawing-room curtains at the father and son, as they walked down the street together, talking eagerly, I did wish I could hear what they were saying to each other! But I had no time to spare for any useless conjectures of this kind. There was my father to write to, and my letter must be careful and well considered; and this done, there was my godmother's still somewhat ruffled plumage to smoothe down, for she was not yet _quite_ her most approving and delightful self to me. And I began to realise for almost the first time in my life that I was feeling very tired--overstrained, I think, and suffering from a sort of reaction from the too great consciousness of responsibility of the last few days. My godmother's instincts were as quick as her sympathy was sure. She met me as I was carrying my letter downstairs, to ask her if I might have it posted at once. I had a babyish feeling that it would be a relief to know it in the safe possession of her Majesty's post-office, till it should reach its destination the next morning. "Certainly," was Lady Bretton's reply, as she took it from me. "It shall be sent off at once." "It is to father," I explained. "There is no hurry, I know. He is at Liverpool." "At Liverpool?" she repeated, in a tone of surprise. "Yes," I said, "he is there on this business that I can't tell you about, and the younger Mr Payne is to join him there to-night." I was glad to be able to tell her this, and I think it thoroughly satisfied her. The kindly caressing look and tone returned to her eyes and voice. "You're looking tired, dear," she said, almost tenderly, "and, dear me, yes!--you leave me the day after to-morrow. I wish this annoying business had not cropped up just at the end of your visit--you were so blooming last week, before you set off to that Granville Square." "I am a little tired," I said, "but I shall be all right again now. The business is out of my hands." "You quaint little person," said Lady Bretton. "You and business! It seems too absurd! Now go and lie down till luncheon-time; you know I never coddle, but there are exceptions to all rules." I was not sorry to do as she told me; I rather suspect I fell asleep. I know that I felt quite myself again by the afternoon, and when I said good-bye to my dear hostess on Saturday, she expressed her satisfaction at seeing me looking so well.