"Don't be so cruel, papa. Scarcely a day passes in which _I_ do not long to see _you_. My baby makes me think more about my home than ever." "Then she's a very healthy baby, if one may judge by her influences. But you know, if I had had to give you warning, I could not have been here before to-morrow; and surely you will acknowledge, that, however nice expectation may be, presence is better." "Yes, papa. We will make a compromise, if you please. Every time you think of coming to me, you must either come at once, or let me know you are coming. Do you agree to that?" "I agree," he said. So I have the pleasure of a constant expectation. Any day he may walk in unheralded; or by any post I may receive a letter with the news that he is coming at such a time. As we sat at dinner that evening, he asked if we had lately seen Miss Clare. "I've seen her only once, and Percivale not at all, since you were here last, papa," I answered. "How's that?" he asked again, a little surprised. "Haven't you got her address yet? I want very much to know more of her." "So do we. I haven't got her address, but I know where she lives." "What do you mean, Wynnie? Has she taken to dark sayings of late, Percivale?" I told him the whole story of my adventure with Roger, and the reports Judy had prejudiced my judgment withal. He heard me through in silence, for it was a rule with him never to interrupt a narrator. He used to say, "You will generally get at more, and in a better fashion, if you let any narrative take its own devious course, without the interruption of requested explanations. By the time it is over, you will find the questions you wanted to ask mostly vanished." "Describe the place to me, Wynnie," he said, when I had ended. "I must go and see her. I have a suspicion, amounting almost to a conviction, that she is one whose acquaintance ought to be cultivated at any cost. There is some grand explanation of all this contradictory strangeness." "I don't think I could describe the place to you so that you would find it. But if Percivale wouldn't mind my going with you instead of with him, I should be only too happy to accompany you. May I, Percivale?" "Certainly. It will do just as well to go with your father as with me. I only stipulate, that, if you are both satisfied, you take Roger with you next time." "Of course I will." "Then we'll go to-morrow morning," said my father. "I don't think she is likely to be at home in the morning," I said. "She goes out giving lessons, you know; and the probability is, that at that time we should not find her." "Then why not to-night?" he rejoined. "Why not, if you wish it?" "I do wish it, then." "If you knew the place, though, I think you would prefer going a little earlier than we can to-night." "Ah, well! we will go to-morrow evening. We could dine early, couldn't we?" So it was arranged. My father went about some business in the morning. We dined early, and set out about six o'clock.