"Mr. Macheson has himself to blame," Wilhelmina said, "if his action in bringing your daughter to me that night has been misunderstood. At any rate, he cannot refuse to tell you now what he refused to tell me. You understand, Mr. Macheson," she added, turning towards him, "Mrs. Foulton insists upon knowing with whom you found her daughter having supper that night in London." Macheson hesitated only for a moment. "Your daughter was with Mr. Stephen Hurd, Mrs. Foulton," he said. The woman threw her apron over her head and hastened away. They heard her sobbing in the kitchen. Wilhelmina shrugged her shoulders. "What a bore!" she remarked. "We shan't get any tea. People of this sort have no self-control." Macheson looked at her sternly. "Have the people here," he asked, "been connecting me with this child's disappearance?" "I suppose so," she answered carelessly. "Rather a new line for you, isn't it--the gay Lothario! It's your own fault. You shouldn't be so mysterious." "You didn't believe it?" he said shortly. "Why not? You've been--seeing life lately, haven't you?" "You didn't believe it?" he repeated, keeping his eyes fixed upon her. She came over to him and laid her hands upon his shoulders. Her pale face was upturned to his. It seemed open to him to transform her attitude into a caress. "Of course not, dear," she answered. "If--any one else did, they will soon know the truth." "All the same," he muttered, "it's horrible. We must do something!" She moved away from him wearily. His thoughts were full of the tragedy of Letty Foulton's disappearance. He seemed scarcely to know that she had been almost in his arms. He turned to her suddenly. "I shall go back," he said, "to speak once more with Stephen Hurd." She looked into his face and saw things there which terrified her. He had moved already towards the door, but she stood in his way. "No!" she cried. "It is not your affair. Let me deal with him!" He shook his head. "It is no matter," he said, "for a woman to interfere in." "He will not listen to you," she continued eagerly. "He will tell you that it is not your concern." "It is the concern of every honest man," he interrupted. "You must please let me go!" She was holding his arm, and she refused to withdraw her fingers. Then Mrs. Foulton intervened. She had smoothed her hair and was carrying a tea-tray. They both looked at her as though fascinated. "I hope I have not kept you waiting, madam," she said quietly. "I had to send Ruth up for the cream. The boy's at Loughborough market, and I'm a bit shorthanded." "I--oh! I'm sorry you bothered about the tea, Mrs. Foulton," Wilhelmina said, with an effort. "But how good it looks! Come, Mr. Macheson! I don't know whether you've had any lunch, but I haven't. I'm perfectly ravenous." "I've some sandwiches in my pocket," Macheson answered, moving slowly to the table, "but to tell you the truth, I'd forgotten them."