Before he left she contrived with an openness that was not diplomatic to get a few words alone with him. Her insistence on a little private talk robbed her confidences of the air of being casual which she had intended to give them, and prepared him against surprises. "The girls monopolise you," she said pleasantly. "I never seem to get the opportunity for a talk." He wondered what was coming and felt apprehensive; but his wildest conjectures could not anticipate what she had it in mind to say. She started on irrelevant topics, wandered rather aimlessly from one subject to another, and finally came to her point. "I am so pleased you came to-day," she said. "We began to feel neglected. The girls tell me they see you sometimes in town; and of course at the theatre last week... I don't think you saw us though. You were with the Uptons." "I saw you," he answered, and felt himself flushing awkwardly. "But I wasn't sure... I thought perhaps... You see, Miss Aplin told me there was a little difficulty..." He looked at her squarely and shifted his ground. "It was a jolly fine play, wasn't it? And the acting was quite good." "I thought it a little sensational," she replied, and disposed of that, smiling at him with almost maternal solicitude as she added: "It was thoughtful of you to consider my prejudices. Having girls, you see, I have to be very careful. But I am sorry for Brenda Upton. She is thrown with undesirable associates, and has been talked about in connexion with men. Her mother is always striving to get her married. That sort of thing is very bad for a girl; and with their history they ought to be _so_ careful. She is naturally anxious to marry for the sake of a home; and I hope she will succeed in finding some honest man in her own sphere who will overlook what is undesirable in her past. She is not after all responsible for her father's failings." "I should think not," he answered, with a curtness he was unable to prevent. He felt almost uncontrollably angry. He apprehended quite clearly that Mrs Aplin was desirous of warning him against a mesalliance, and he considered it not only an unwarranted impertinence, but a mischievous and scurrilous aspersion of Brenda's reputation. "I doubt whether any man of average common sense would think twice about that," he said. "You know her quite intimately, I suppose?" she ventured. "Yes," he answered, and added with a certain dry malice: "I imagine I am the only man in connexion with whom she has ever been talked about." "Really, Mr Matheson!" Her tone was as shocked as her look. He laughed savagely. "Oh! it's an entirely innocuous scandal. To be honoured with Miss Upton's friendship is a guarantee of discretion. Believe me, you have been doing her a grave injustice."