For all Crosby’s lightness of tone, there is a strange, scrutinizing expression in his clever eyes as he looks at Wyndham. He knows that Ella Moore’s presence here must prove a surprise to him; and how will he take it? The girl seems well enough, but—And if Wyndham has been capable of placing so close to this family of young, young people someone who— He is studying Wyndham very acutely. But all that he can make out of Wyndham’s face is surprise, and something that might be termed relief—nothing more. As for the girl, she is the one that looks confused. She rises, holding Tommy by her side, and looks appealingly at Wyndham. She would have spoken, perhaps, but that the Rector, who has not yet gone back to his study, takes up the parable. ‘We are very glad to have persuaded Miss Moore to come here to-day,’ says he, in a tone to be heard by everyone. ‘She has told me that you came down this morning, bringing Miss Manning with you. That will be a source of pleasure to us all, I am quite sure.’ He bows his courteous old head as amiably as though Miss Manning over the road could hear him. It is a tribute to her perfections. After this he buttonholes Wyndham, and draws him apart a bit. ‘She’s a nice girl, Wyndham—a nice girl, I really think. A most guileless countenance! But not educated, you know. Betty and Susan—mere children as they are—could almost teach her.’ The Rector sighs. He always regards his girls as having stood still since his wife’s death. Children they were then, children they are now. He has not seemed to live himself since her death. Since that, indeed, all things have stood still for him. ‘Yes. But she seems intelligent—clever,’ says Wyndham, a little coldly. ‘I dare say. And now you have secured Miss Manning for her! That is a wise step,’ says the Rector thoughtfully. ‘She owes you much, Wyndham. I was glad when Susan persuaded her to come over here to-day. But I doubt if she will consent to go further. She seems terrified at the thought of being far from your—her home. Have you not yet discovered any trace of that scoundrel Moore? The bond between them might surely be broken.’ ‘There is no bond between them. Of that I am convinced,’ says Wyndham. ‘I trust not—I trust not,’ says the Rector. He makes a little gesture of farewell, and goes back to his beloved study, his head bent, his hands clasped behind his back, as usual. ‘We’re waiting for you, Mr. Wyndham,’ calls out Betty, arching her slender neck to look over Dominick’s shoulder. The wind has caught her fair, fluffy hair, and is ruffling it. ‘Yes; come along, Wyndham,’ says Crosby. ‘Tommy’s story is yet to tell.’ ‘Better have one from you instead, Mr. Crosby,’ says Susan hastily. She knows Tommy. ‘You can tell us all about lions and niggers and things. You’d like to hear of lions and niggers, Tommy’—in a wheedling tone—‘wouldn’t you?’