And all the time she was saying to herself passionately that, if Louie Grieve had not been his sister, she should _never_ have set foot in that room again! In the two days they had been together Louie had outraged almost every feeling the other possessed. And there was a burning dread in Dora's mind that even the secret of her heart of hearts had been somehow discovered by the girl's hawk-like sense. But she had promised to help him, and she would. 'You must let me know what I owe you for teaching her and introducing her,' said David firmly. 'Yes, you must, Miss Dora. It's business, and you mustn't make any bones about it. A girl doesn't learn a trade and get an opening found her for nothing.' 'Oh no, nonsense!' she said quickly, but with decision equal to his own. 'I won't take anything. She don't want much teaching; she's so clever; she sees a thing almost before the words are out of your mouth. Look here, Mr. Grieve, I want to tell you about Lucy.' She looked up at him, flushing. He, too, coloured. 'Well,' he said; 'that's what I wanted to ask you.' She told him the whole story of Lucy's flight from her father, of her illness and departure, of the probable stepmother. 'Old brute!' said David between his teeth. 'I say, Miss Dora, can nothing be done to make him treat her decently?' His countenance glowed with indignation and disgust. Dora shook her head sadly. 'I don't see what anyone can do; and the worst of it is she'll be such a long while getting over it. I've had a letter from her this morning, and she says the Hastings doctor declares she must stay there a year in the warm and not come home at all, or she'll be going off in a decline. I know Lucy gets nervous about herself, but it do seem bad.' David sat silent, lost in a medley of feelings, most of them unpleasant. Now that Lucy Purcell was at the other end of England, both her service to him and his own curmudgeon behaviour to her loomed doubly large. 'I say, will you give me her address?' he said at last. 'I've got a smart book I've had bound for her. I'd like to send it her.' Dora went to the table and wrote it for him. Then he got up to go. 'Upon my word, you do look tired,' he broke out. 'Can't you go to bed? It is hard lines.' Which last words applied to that whole situation of hers with her father which he was beginning dimly to discern. In his boyish admiration and compassion he took both her hands in his. Dora withdrew them quickly. 'Oh, I'll pull through!' she said, simply, and he went. When she had closed the door after him she stood looking at the clock with her hands clasped in front of her. 'How much longer will father be?' she said, sighing. 'Oh, I think I told him all Lucy wanted me to say; I think I did.' CHAPTER X