Whereupon Alice left me in despair, and I found myself face to face with my father. He looked at me in stern disapproval. There was a distinctly marked frown on his forehead. “You are too fond of those flighty sayings, Kate,” he remarked, sternly. “Let me hear less of them.” I made no reply. There were times when I was almost afraid of my father, when a suppressed irritation of manner seemed like the thin veneer beneath which a volcano was trembling. To-day the signs were there. I made haste to change the subject. “The letters have just come,” I said, holding out a little packet to him. “There is one for you from a place I never heard of--somewhere in South America, I think.” He took them from me and glanced at the handwriting of the topmost one. Then for a short space of time I saw another man before me. The calm strength of his refined, thoughtful face was transformed. Like a flash the gleam of a dark passion lit up his brilliant eyes. His lips quivered, his fingers were clenched together. For a moment I thought he would have torn the letter into shreds unopened. With an evident effort, however, he restrained himself, and went out of the room bearing the letter in his hand. I heard him walking about in his study all the morning. At luncheon time he had quite recovered his composure, but towards its close he made, for us, a somewhat startling announcement. “I am going to London this afternoon,” he said, quietly. “To London?” we both echoed. “Yes. There is a little business there which requires my personal attention.” Under the circumstances Alice was even more surprised than I was. “But how about Mr. Hewitt?” she reminded him blandly. “We were to meet him at the schools at five o’clock this afternoon about the new ventilators.” “Mr. Hewitt must be put off until my return,” my father answered. “The schools have done without them for ten years so they can go on for another week. Can I trouble you for the Worcestershire sauce, Kate?” This was my father’s method of closing the subject. Alice looked at me with perplexed face, but my thoughts were elsewhere. I was wondering whether my father would undertake a commission for me at Debenham and Freebody’s. “Shall you be going West?” I asked him. He looked up at me and hesitated for a moment. “My business is in the city,” he said, coldly. “What do you call West?” “Regent Street,” I answered. He considered a few moments. “I may be near there,” he said. “If so I will try to do what you require. Do not be disappointed if I should happen to forget about it, though. If it is important you had better send direct.” “I would rather you called if it wouldn’t be bothering you,” I told him. “There is some money to pay, and it would save my getting postal orders.” I left the room to write a note. When I came back my father had gone into his study. I followed him there, and, entering the room without knocking, found him bending over his desk. He looked up at me and frowned.