“I am afraid it looks like it, but not to annoy you, only to satisfy my longing to see you. Just now you said I sounded humble. I wonder if you could guess how humble I feel.” “I wonder,” she said sharply, “if you could guess how little I believe anything you say, Mr. Alston? I am sorry I spoke to you. It was a weakness I regret. Now I will say good-bye. You went to Slotman’s office, and I suppose discussed me with him?” “I did not; he was not there. I was glad afterwards he was not. I don’t like the man.” “It does not matter. In any event Mr. Slotman could not have helped you; he does not know where I am living.” “Won’t you tell me?” “Why should I, to be further annoyed by you?” “I think you know that I will not annoy you. Won’t you tell me, Joan?” “I—I don’t see why I should. Remember, I have no wish to continue our—our acquaintance; there is no reason you should know.” “Yet if I knew I would be happier. I would not trouble you.” “Surely it does not matter. I am living in the country, then—in Kent, at Starden. I—I have come into a little money.” She looked at him keenly. She wondered did he know, had he known that night when he had told her that he loved her? “I am glad of it,” he said. “I could have wished you had come into a great deal.” “I have!” she said quietly. “I am truly glad,” he said. “It was one of the things that troubled me most, the thought of you—you forced to go out into the world to earn your living, you who are so fine and exquisite and sensitive, being brought into contact with the ugly things of life. I am glad that you are saved that—it lightens my heart too, Joan.” “Why?” “Haven’t I told you? I hated the thought of you having to work for such a man as Slotman. I am thankful you are freed from any such need.” She had wronged him by that thought, she was glad to realise it. He had not known, then. “My uncle died. He left me his fortune and the old home of our family, which he had recently bought back, Starden Hall, in Kent. I am living there now with Mrs. Everard, my friend and companion, and now—” While she had been waiting to be served with a bag that she did not particularly require, Helen Everard watched them through the shop-window. She watched him particularly. “I like him; he looks honest,” she thought. “It is all strange and curious. If it were not true what Lady Linden said, why did she say it? If it is true, then—then why—what is the cause of the quarrel between them? Will they make it up? He does not look like a man who could treat a woman badly. Oh dear!” Helen sighed, for she had her own plans. Like every good woman, she was a born matchmaker at heart. She had a deep and sincere affection for John Everard. She had decided long ago that she must find Johnny a good wife, and here had been the very thing, only there was this Mr. Hugh Alston.