“Well, that's all! No, it _isn't_ all, either. There's something else troubles me. Our poor little friend is a blackguard, I suppose?” “Hicks?” “Yes.” “You have invited him to be the leader of your orchestra, haven't you?” “Oh, don't, Staniford!” cried Dunham in his helplessness. “I should hate to see her dependent in any degree upon that little cad for society.” Cad was the last English word which Dunham had got himself used to. “That was why I hoped that you wouldn't altogether neglect her. She's here, and she's no choice but to remain. We can't leave her to herself without the danger of leaving her to Hicks. You see?” “Well,” said Staniford gloomily, “I'm not sure that you couldn't leave her to a worse cad than Hicks.” Dunham looked up in question. “To me, for example.” “Oh, hallo!” cried Dunham. “I don't see how I'm to be of any use,” continued the other. “I'm not a squire of dames; I should merely make a mess of it.” “You're mistaken, Staniford,--I'm sure you are,--in supposing that she dislikes you,” urged his friend. “Oh, very likely.” “I know that she's simply afraid of you.” “Don't flatter, Dunham. Why should I care whether she fears me or affects me? No, my dear fellow. This is irretrievably your own affair. I should be glad to help you out if I knew how. But I don't. In the mean time your duty is plain, whatever happens. You can't overdo the sweet and the generous in this wicked world without paying the penalty.” Staniford smiled at the distress in which Dunham went his way. He understood very well that it was not vanity, but the liveliness of a sensitive conscience, that had made Dunham search his conduct for the offense against the young girl's peace of heart which he believed he had committed, and it was the more amusing because he was so guiltless of harm. Staniford knew who was to blame for the headache and the blush. He knew that Dunham had never gone so far; that his chivalrous pleasure in her society might continue for years free from flirtation. But in spite of this conviction a little poignant doubt made itself felt, and suddenly became his whole consciousness. “Confound him!” he mused. “I wonder if she really could care anything for him!” He shut his book, and rose to his feet with such a burning in his heart that he could not have believed himself capable of the greater rage he felt at what he just then saw. It was Lydia and Hicks seated together in the place where he had sat with her. She leaned with one arm upon the rail, in an attitude that brought all her slim young grace into evidence. She seemed on very good terms with him, and he was talking and making her laugh as Staniford had never heard her laugh before--so freely, so heartily. XIII.