"Then, all of a sudden, without the slightest warning, the blow of blows fell. Your father was arrested on a charge of forgery; he had forged a cheque for a considerable sum of money. Oh, I forget all the particulars, but he had been made secretary to the golf and cricket clubs, and held, so to speak, the bank--in fact, he made away with the money, but he was caught just in time, and was tried by the laws of India, and sentenced to prison--penal servitude, in short. Of course, such a frightful disgrace carried its own consequences. He was cashiered from the army, they would have nothing whatever to do with him. His term of imprisonment was over late last autumn. I often used to wonder what would happen when he was free, and to speculate as to what your feelings would be when you saw him again. I used to make myself miserable about him. Well, you met, as you know, and he carried off everything with a high hand, and insisted on taking you away with him, and insisted further on marrying Lady Helen Dalrymple. It seems she stuck to him when all his other friends deserted him. He has lived through his punishment as far as the law of the land is concerned, but he will never outlive his disgrace, and there isn't a true soldier in the length and breadth of the land who will speak to him. Well, that's his story, and I was obliged to tell you. Now, you can run away and change your dress--oh, I forgot, you have no dress to change into. Well, you can tidy your hair and wash your hands, and by that time we'll be ready for dinner. Now, off with you, and be sure you have your hair well brushed. Good-bye for the present." CHAPTER XVII I left Aunt Penelope's room. I walked very slowly. My room was next to hers, and the walls between were quite thin; you could almost hear a person talking in the adjoining room. I wanted to be very quiet. I wanted no one to hear me, and yet I could not bear the perfect stillness and the cramped feeling of the tiny room. I put on my hat, snatched up my gloves and parasol, and ran downstairs. Jonas met me. He looked much excited. He came up to me with his cheeks flushed. "Why, missie!" he said, "is there anything the matter?" "No, no; nothing at all, Jonas," I said. "You are preparing Aunt Penelope's dinner, are you not?" "Yes, missie; that is, as well as I can. I'm not at all sure about the soup, though; I am not certain that it is flavoured right. If you, missie, were to come along into the kitchen and just taste it, why--it would be a rare help, that it would."