“But surely he…” “No; he knew nothing about it. When my mother spoke to him he asked her not to interfere.” “Ah!” For a few swift moments the generous treatment called to her own generosity, and for the sake of the understanding father she was almost ready to let go the straw. Only then again came the recollection of the uncle, and his impudent offer to substitute himself, and make amends at the same time; and again the smouldering fires leaped up, fed by the strong, protecting touch of the hand upon hers. “I think Hal was right,” Alymer was saying. “If my companionship, just to run down and see how you are, wherever you may be, will help to cheer you up and amuse you, there is no reason why I shouldn’t manage it.” She knew he was making a concession of which he was half-afraid, because of what he owed her, and while one half of her longed to be self-sacrificing and release him, the other half fiercely demanded the straw that yet might save. And still she said nothing, gazing, gazing, into the flames. “What do you think?” he asked. “I hardly know,” with a tired smile. “Of course I want you, but if—” “Never mind the ‘if’,” cheerfully. “If I promise to run down and see you, will you go away at once, and try to get well again quickly?” “It would make a lot of difference.” “Then that settles it. Can you start tomorrow?” “I think I could.” Her pulses were leaping fitfully now—leaping and bounding with a swift delight. Perhaps he felt it, for he withdrew his hand, and gave himself a little shake, as if warding off something dangerous. “Where will you go?” in a matter-of-fact voice. “I hardly know, but I like the sea. Any little place that is warm in the spring. I might as well motor down, so it doesn’t matter about trains, and the motor can come back for you.” “Shall I bring any one else?” his eyes searched her face. “Just as you like.” She leant forward and casually stirred the fire. “Anyhow, there is sure to be plenty of room at this time of year.” “Plenty of room, but not plenty of available companion chaperones,” with a little laugh. “Then we should have to make Sydney serve,” naming her chauffeur. She got up from her seat. “I suppose I must think about dinner,” glancing at the clock. “Are you joining me this evening?” “I can’t; I have to go to Morrison’s.” “How gay you are!” “It is diplomatic. Morrison could get me a brief tomorrow if he liked.” “There is a very pretty daughter, just out; isn’t there?” “Yes.” “And is she so strikingly lovely?” “I suppose she is; but she is so full of airs and graces she irritates one almost past endurance.” “I’m afraid you are a severe critic. The way is made too smooth for you.” She had moved near to him again, and stood beside him with one hand resting lightly on the mantelpiece, and one foot on the fender. He was standing as usual with his back to the fire. He looked down into her upturned face, fascinating now from a touch of roguishness.