Isabel and her father started, I think, the next day. I remember standing in the porch with Moore to watch them off, and as soon as the carriage had disappeared down the drive, I turned to him with some little remark as to how odd it was for him and me to find ourselves alone for the first time in our lives, and that not at our own home. "You must be your very nicest to me, Othello, do you hear, to prevent my feeling dull," I said, meaning to propitiate him after my sharpness on the evening of our last expedition, for I saw that the cloud had not yet disappeared. "I shall be quite ready to do anything you like," he said, rather primly, "and yes, I think I can promise you that it will not be my fault if you have a _dull_ time." "What do you mean?" I exclaimed, with a passing flash of misgiving; but he evaded a direct reply, though I fancied I heard him murmuring something practically inaudible. "The best thing I can do," I thought to myself, "is to put some other things in his head, if he _is_ still planning any fresh investigations; and after all, I have his promise to do nothing without telling me." It did not then occur to me that the vague threat he had thrown out as to not letting the matter drop could be twisted by his boyish conscience into a definite announcement of his project. I went on talking about the drive that had been proposed for us that afternoon in Isabel's pony-cart--a drive in a new direction, as to which Mr Wynyard had instructed us before he left. Moore answered with interest, even getting up a little argument as to the exact route we were to take. But still he was not _quite_ himself, nor did he become so during our expedition, though it passed off very successfully, without our losing our way or any other misfortune. And during the evening that followed something in his manner continued to give me the same feeling of slight uneasiness. He did not seem to care to talk much, and looked himself out a book from among those in the library which Mr Wynyard had recommended to him, and then settled himself in a corner to enjoy it. I felt a little hurt and anxious too, though I hoped it only meant that his irritation with me had not entirely subsided. "I wish I had never told him a word about that hateful old house or the stupid people that live in it. I dare say there is no mystery at all, and that they are just a parcel of half imbecile hypochondriacs," I thought to myself, feeling as if I must give vent, at least in thought, to my vexation towards _somebody_! And aloud I appealed to Moore--not captiously, as that would only have made things worse--but with a touch of reproach. "I think you might talk to me a little, or play chess, or something sociable," I said brightly. "You might even read aloud. It is rather dull for me." "I can't read aloud; you know I can't," he replied quietly enough. "I'll play chess if you like."