"There!" she thought; "the driver of that car may want a sip of Russian tea--I am glad it is not Turkish--that the girls serve here." The car was almost up to the sycamore tree, just at the side of the Grotto. Yes, the driver was stopping. Cora rocked nervously in the wicker chair. Who would it be? The girls should not have gone so far away-- A young man alighted from the runabout. He stepped briskly up to the porch. It was Rob Roland. "Well!" he exclaimed, plainly as surprised to see Cora as she was to see him. "If this isn't luck! Miss Kimball!" Quick and keen as was his glance, making sure that Cora was alone, her own sharp wits were able to follow his. "Yes," she replied indifferently, "the girls have closed up the tea-room, and are just out in the meadow. I felt more like sitting here." He drew up a chair and sat down uninvited. Cora never did like Rob Roland, now she disliked him. "You are the very person I am most anxious to talk to," he began, "and this is an excellent opportunity." "About what, pray?" asked Cora. "I must go with the girls very soon." "Oh, no, you must not," he replied, and, handsome though he was, there was that in his manner that deepened the very lines nature had done her best with, and his eyes were merely smoldering depths. Cora felt she should not betray the least nervousness, for, though Rob Roland was known to be a gentleman, he might take advantage of her helplessness to gain from her some information. Ed had warned her to beware of him. "Of course you know all about Cissy Thayer," he began. Cora resented his insolence, but dared not show it. "You know how she has been getting around my little cousin, the cripple." Cora glared at him. She felt that his cowardly attack was simply a display of weakness, and she knew a coward is easily overcome. She deliberately drew her chair closer to him. "Rob Roland," she said calmly, "my friend, Miss Thayer, is not only a lady, but she is also a student of human ills. She has been interested in little Wren that she might be cured. It appears that some of her relatives consider her incurable." "Cured!" he sneered. "That misfit made right! Why, she has only a few months to live. Your friend is very foolish. She should put her energy on something worth while. And she should be careful how she handles their property. That scrapbook, for instance." "How dare you, Rob Roland!" exclaimed Cora. "Miss Thayer says the child has been ill-treated through alleged treatment, and it appears the man who has been treating her was paid by your father." "Oh, my!" The fellow sank deeper into his linen coat. "I had no idea of your dramatic powers, Miss Kimball. I beg a thousand pardons. I never dreamed that the Thayer girl was so close to you. In fact, I rather thought you merely took her up out of charity. Every one in Chelton knows that the Thayers are just poor working-people."