"That is a subject on which I would rather you asked me no questions; I cannot answer them." "But, my dear child, what reason have you for screening her?" Miss Forster merely shook her head. "But in the face of this you can't expect to be allowed to take up an attitude of silence. What explanation am I to give?" "Give any explanation you choose; you'll find that the people will be too glad to have their things restored to bother you with questions." "That's all you know; each one of those women will insist on knowing how I was able to restore them, and if I can't give a satisfactory answer they'll begin to think unpleasant things of me. I must tell them something--what am I to tell them? Am I to tell them that I found them in a leather bag which you handed over as if it were a cup of tea? If I do, then for the history of the bag they'll refer to you." "Then they'll not get it. I'm very sorry, Margaret, but if you knew how I feel you'd let me off, at least for a while; talk to me later on. Mayn't I go upstairs, and try to get a little sleep? I believe that if I could I'd be better able to talk to you than I am now." Shutting her eyes, the girl pressed her fingers against the lids as if they ached with weariness. The countess did show some signs of sympathy. "My poor dear Violet, do get between the sheets, and get all the sleep you can; sleep the clock round, if you like. Is your foot still bad? Shall I come up and help you into bed?" "No, thank you, Margaret; my foot isn't all that I could wish it to be, but I think I can manage. If you only knew how much I want to be alone!" There was a pathetic something in the girl's voice which touched the other's heart; there was such a ring of sincerity in the expression of her desire to be alone. She suffered the girl to go, so conscious of her wish to escape the scrutiny of even friendly eyes that she did not turn to look at her. When the pit-pat of her slippered feet had died away, her ladyship said to herself, with rueful visage: "That girl's in a mood for anything; I'm not sure that I was wise to let her go alone; but how could I thrust myself upon her craving for solitude? I only hope she'll do nothing worse than she's done already. Now, who's that? Is she coming back again, or is it Jane Simmons? Those steps belong to neither--that's Rupert; he's found out that I'm missing, and he's coming dashing after me." The lady's surmise proved to be correct; someone was "dashing" after her, two or three stairs at a time--a gentleman who, rushing out into the hall, looked about him; then, espying her, exclaimed: "Margaret! You little wretch! If you only knew what a fright you gave me. What the dickens made you get out of bed, out of the room, at this time of the morning and slip down here?" "Business." "Business! What in thunder do you mean by business?" The gentleman approached close to the lady's side; she was looking up at him with the demurest smile. "Rupert, I've had a dream."