While the youths were having their talk, Alice was in Jane's bedroom, undergoing an examination, the end and object of which it was impossible she should suspect. Caught by a certain look in her sweet face, reminding her of a look that was anything but sweet, Jane had set herself to learn from her what she might as to her people and history. “Is your father alive, my dear?” she asked, with her keen black eyes on Alice's face. That grew red, and for a moment the girl did not answer. Jane pursued her catechizing. “What was his trade or profession?” she inquired. The girl said nothing, and the merciless questioner went on. “Tell me something about him, dear. Do you remember him? Or did he die when you were quite a child?” “I do not remember him,” answered Alice. “I do not know if I ever saw him.” “Did your mother never tell you what he was like?” “She told me once he was very handsome--the handsomest man she ever saw--but cruel--so cruel! she said.--I don't want to talk about him, please, ma'am!” concluded Alice, the tears running down her cheeks. “I'm sorry, my dear, to hurt you, but I'm not doing it from curiosity. You have a look so like a man I once knew,--and your brother has something of the same!--that in fact I am bound to learn what I can about you.” “What sort was the man we put you in mind of?” asked Alice, with a feeble attempt at a smile. “Not a _very_ bad man, I hope!” “Well, not very good--as you ask me.--He was what people call a gentleman!” “Was that all?” “What do you mean?” “I thought he was a nobleman!” “Oh!--well, he wasn't that; he was a baronet.” Alice gave a little cry. “Do tell me something about him,” she said. “What do you know about him?” “More than I choose to tell. We will forget him now, if you please!” There was in her voice a tone of displeasure, which Alice took to be with herself. She was in consequence both troubled and perplexed. Neither made any more inquiries. Jane took her guest back to the sitting-room. The moment her brother came from the workshop, Alice said to him-- “Are you ready, Arthur? We had better be moving!” Arthur was a gentle creature, and seldom opposed her; he seemed only surprised a little, and asked if she was ill. But Richard, who had all the week been looking forward to a talk with Alice, and wanted to show her his little library, was much disappointed, and begged her to change her mind. She insisted, however, and he put on his hat to walk with them. But his aunt called him, and whispered that she would be particularly obliged to him if he would go to church with her that evening. He expostulated, saying he did not care to go to church; but as she insisted, he yielded, though not with the best grace. Before another Sunday, there came, doubtless by his aunt's management, an invitation to spend a few weeks with his grandfather, the blacksmith.