"She has told me her whole story--a rather uncommon one, full of good situations." "What do you mean?" The words were uttered with such harsh impatience that Waymark started. "What annoys you?" he asked, with surprise. "Tell me something of the story," said the other, regaining his composure, and apparently wishing to affect indifference. "I have a twinge of that damned rheumatism every now and then, and it makes me rather crusty. Do you think her story is to be depended upon?" "Yes, I believe it is." And Waymark linked briefly the chief points of Ida's history, as he knew it, the old man continually interrupting him with questions. "Now go on," said Abraham, when he had heard all that Waymark knew, "and explain the scrape she's got into." Waymark did so. "And you mean to tell me," Abraham said, before the story was quite finished, "that there's been nothing more between you than that?" "Absolutely nothing." "I don't believe you." It was said angrily, and with a blow of the clenched fist on the table. The old man could no longer conceal the emotion that possessed him. Waymark looked at him in astonishment, unable to comprehend his behaviour. "Well if you don't believe me, of course I can offer no proof; and I know well enough that every presumption is against me. Still, I tell you the plain fact; and what reason have I for hiding the truth? If I had been living with the girl, I should have said so, as an extra reason for asking your help in the matter." "What help can I give?" asked Woodstock, again cooling down, though his eyes had in them a most unwonted light. He spoke as if simply asking for information. "I thought you might suggest something as to modes of defence, and the like. The expenses I would somehow or other meet myself. It appears that she will plead not guilty." "And what's your belief?" "I can't make up my mind." "In that case, it seems to me, you ought to give her the benefit of the doubt; especially as you seem to have made up your mind pretty clearly about this Mrs. What's-her-name." Waymark was silent, looking at Mr. Woodstock, and reflecting. "What are your intentions with regard to the girl?" Abraham asked, with a change in his voice, the usual friendliness coming back. He looked at the young man in a curious way; one would almost have said, with apprehensive expectation. "I have no intentions." "You would have had, but for this affair?" "No; you are mistaken. I know the position is difficult to realise." "Have you intentions, then, in any other quarter?" "Well, perhaps yes." "I've never heard anything of this." "I could scarcely talk of a matter so uncertain." There was silence. A sort of agitation came upon the old man ever and again, in talking. He now grew absorbed in thought, and remained thus for several minutes, Waymark looking at him the while. When at length Abraham raised his eyes, and they met Waymark's, he turned them away at once, and rose from the chair.