“Guy,” she said, calling him by name for the first time, “I’m sorry if I seemed to be ungracious just now. But—but you haven’t treated us well, nor kindly. And I want to know why you’ve never been here, all this time—and why you ever left here at all. Can’t you tell me?” There was a certain earnestness in the girl’s tone that made Guy, inclined to be restive at first under her questioning, change his mood and become reflective. He threw away his cigar, rose from his chair, and thrusting his hands in his pockets, began to pace the room, evidently in deep thought. “I might tell you some day,” he said at last. “Perhaps—later on—after thinking it over, I will.” “That’s the second time tonight I’ve had that answer to that very question!” exclaimed Valencia. “In practically the same words!” Guy stopped short in his perambulations and stared at her. “Whose answer was the first?” he asked abruptly. “Harborough’s,” replied Valencia. “He, too, has come back. He was here this evening. I knew that you and he were friends, once. I asked him if he knew why you left home. He answered—just what you’ve answered.” “Well?” asked Guy, with something very like a growl. “Well?” “I suppose he does know,” said Valencia. Guy began to walk about again. He had taken several turns before he spoke. “I’ll give you a piece of advice about John Harborough,” he said at last. “He’s a man—if certain conditions arise—of a black and fierce temper. You be careful. Otherwise——” “What?” demanded Valencia. “Otherwise I’ve nothing to say against him,” concluded Guy. “And now—that’s enough! I didn’t come here to be questioned. I’ve told you and Harry why I came, and I mean to do well and fairly by both of you on the lines I’ve suggested. Never you mind why I left Markenmore, nor why I stayed away!” “I wish you’d tell me just one thing, though,” persisted Valencia. “Had it anything to do with Veronica Leighton, as she was then?—Mrs. Tretheroe?” “I’m not going to tell you anything,” answered Guy peremptorily. “It’s nothing to do with you nor with anybody, now. I started out on a line of my own when I left here, and I’ve done with this. I shall never come near the place again when I leave it tonight; henceforth it’s yours and Harry’s. When I come back from America, you can both come and see me in London, whenever and as often as you like. But Markenmore will see me no more—I hate it!” “Your father?” suggested Valencia. Guy, still pacing the room, shook his head. “You were too young to realize things,” he answered. “But my father and I never got on—from the first we never got on. He never treated me well, and it was worse after he married your mother. If it hadn’t been for her, I’d have run away from this when I was a boy. But your mother was a good sort—she did treat me well, right up to the time she died, when you and Harry were children. It’s because I remember her and her kindness that I’m going to make Markenmore over to you now.”