“John,” said Mrs. Parke. “She is much better out of the house. And all those Hills. I can’t bear them. If she keeps on thinking it an interloper, only adopted by Frogmore, she might do some harm to the child. It’s not consistent with your duty to keep her here.” She looked up as she said this and met his eyes. There was a half smile in hers, but Mrs. Parke’s eyes were not expressive--they were dull eyes, and when Letitia chose they became duller still with no meaning in them at all. Perhaps she had not any meaning. The tone which frightened her husband might have been an accidental change of her voice. He looked at her with all the penetration there was in his, but could make nothing of her. John had been very much frightened, he could not tell how; for, as a matter-of-fact, it was he who had entertained ideas prejudicial to little Mar and not Letitia. What dreadful thing had he imagined about his wife? “You are the guardian.” There could not be simpler words. Was it some suggestion from the devil that had made him hear in them something--that was too dreadful to be spoken? John Parke, who was honest enough, and could not have harmed anyone, though he would have fought tooth and nail for his rights, looked into his wife’s face, and saw nothing there that gave any solution to what he had imagined. But after the shock he had received it was not very easy for him to continue the conversation. He said, “I beg your pardon,” thrusting one of his hands into his pocket, as if to find the solution of the mystery there. Letitia did not ask why he begged her pardon. She begged him to call Felicie, that she might get a cup of tea. CHAPTER XXIX.