A gentle ripple passed through Charley’s moustache. He began to twist one end of it. “It may be all imagination,” he began, “but I fancied, at least, that when you spoke to him this morning of his mother—” And he paused. “Ah, I remember. I recollect a look of pain. Yes, I remember perfectly,—his face clouded up instantly. Yes, you are quite right, Mr. Frobisher.” “He always is,” whispered Lucy to me, with a smile. “Always,” said I. Mary gave a sigh. “_Now_, girls, I suppose we are _never_ to learn who this Sphinx is.” “Never, never on earth,” sighed Alice, in return. “Yes,” said Lucy, “we shall yet know him; I feel that we shall.” “You always were a dear, encouraging creature,” said Alice, passing her arm round Lucy’s waist and leaning her head languidly upon her shoulder. “I shall never forgive you, Mr. Frobisher. By this time, but for you—oh, it was too cruel!” “Never despair!” And he started on his way upstairs. Nothing was said for a minute or so, all listening to Charley’s retiring footsteps. “Mrs. Carter,” said Mary, “Mr. Frobisher knows something about the Don that we do not. Don’t you think so, Mr. Whacker?” I had come in for my breakfast shortly after Mary arrived, looking very sleepy and stupid. “Hardly, I should think. How could he?” “And then,” said Mary, “if he knew anything he would have told Mr. Whacker.” “I am not so sure of that.” “You don’t know him,” said Lucy, laughing. “He is an odd fish if ever there was one. I never could see, though, Mr. Whacker, why people should say he was a woman-hater.” “A woman-hater!” exclaimed Mary, looking much interested; “a regular misogynist would be such a piquant character!” “Yes, I have heard that he was. Is it true, Mr. Whacker?” said Alice. “Charley a woman-hater!” said I, sleepily reaching for the butter. “No—more—than—I—am.” And I gave a frightful yawn. “Ever since I was a child,” said Alice, gravely, “I have longed to see Mammoth Cave. My curiosity is now gone. I hope your appetite is on the same scale, Mr. Whacker.” “You must excuse me. Remember how little I slept last night.” “It is such a disappointment that he doesn’t hate women!” said Mary. “Romance!” whispered Alice; for which Mary gave her a love-tap on the cheek.