“I sent him to Hampstead. This _is_ a private house, when all’s said and done. I don’t suppose he got any satisfaction there, but I thought the walk would be good for him. Odious little creature!” It was now that I feel I might have done some good by speaking strongly. Neither Griffiths nor any other grown man deserved to be sent on a fool’s errand; in cooler moments Sonia would have been ashamed to play such a trick. Her answer, I suppose, would have been that Griffiths and her husband were too much for any one’s coolness; and I feared—no doubt, weakly—that I should lose my slight influence over her if I sided with her husband. When he came down from the nursery, she was still indignant enough to retail Griffiths’ visit and to ask O’Rane whether the deputation had reached Hampstead in time to find him. “I had to say I could do nothing for them,” he answered a little wearily. “I’ve given all I can spare of my own money; and I’ve collected as much as I can from other people. If they come again, you might tell them that.” “You must tell them yourself,” Sonia replied stiffly. “_I’m_ not going to make myself responsible.” “I only wanted you to save them a useless journey. When you sent them to me, you gave them some sort of hope; and that makes it so much harder when I have to turn them down.” “Perhaps in time you’ll find it so hard . . .” she muttered. “I can’t go back on what I’ve said. It’s only unkind to give them a long walk for nothing. Promise me you won’t do it again, Sonia.” “Let’s hope they won’t come again. If they do, I shall _again_ send them to you.” Then, without disguise, her temper broke. “I’m not consulted about what you do with this money, so I wash my hands of it. This is not your office; and you can’t blame me if you refuse to give them anything for their trouble.” “I can only repeat that you make my task more difficult,” O’Rane answered patiently. “Before I’ve done, I hope to make it impossible,” Sonia retorted defiantly, as she hurried out of the library and up the stairs.