"Indeed!" she answered a little coldly. "Who told you that?" "I can read it in my son's altered health." She looked at him in surprise, but without anxiety. "I didn't know there was anything the matter with him." "He had to hasten up to London for a change of air." "I hope it did him good," she said indifferently. "My dear girl, have you no wish to hurry to his bedside?" "I'm afraid I shouldn't be any good if I did." "And you wouldn't find him in bed, either," smiled Mr. Walkingshaw, with a change of manner. "No, no, Ellen; you needn't pretend you're in love with Andrew if that's all the concern you feel. And I may tell you at once that he's as tough as ever, and as great a fool. The fellow is totally unworthy of you, so don't you worry your head about him any longer." He bent over her confidentially. "Supposing some one were to cut him out, eh?" "Some one--" she stammered. "Who?" "Guess!" he smiled. She did guess; and it was a shocking surmise. "I--I have no idea," she fibbed. "Oh, come now, hang it, look me in the eye and repeat that!" For an instant, she looked into that roguish eye, and her worst suspicions were confirmed. "Mr. Walkingshaw," she answered, with trembling candor, "I feel very much honored, but really I must ask you not to--not to say anything more. Our ages--oh, everything--I couldn't! I had better go back now." The philanthropic father gasped. "Ellen! stop! My dear child, I don't mean myself! Good heavens, I am far too old for a young girl like you!" Yet it was at that moment that he suddenly realized he wasn't. "Then--then what--" she began, and stopped, overwhelmed with confusion. Hurriedly he endeavored to put things once more upon a paternal footing. "My fault, my dear Ellen, my fault entirely. Naturally you thought--er--yes, yes, it was quite natural. I--I put it badly. I didn't think what I was saying. The fact is, I've been"--a brilliant inspiration suddenly illumined the chaos of his mind--"I've been so troubled about poor Frank!" Her expression altogether changed. "What's the matter?" she exclaimed. His mind calmed down. Composing his countenance, he shook his head sadly. "I don't think he'll get over it." She laid her hand upon his arm with a quick, involuntary gesture. "But what has happened? Tell me!" The wisdom of age and the shrewdness of youth twinkled together in Mr. Walkingshaw's eye, but he managed to retain a decorously solemn air. "You are really concerned this time?" "Of course! I--I mean, naturally." He drew her hand through his arm and led her along the fringe of the pine woods. "Come and see," he said gently. "Poor boy he's had a bad fall." "What! Is he here--with you?" "Yes--yes," he answered, with an absent and melancholy air.