Belk saw his chance; for, knowing all the gossip of the place, he was aware that Kaituna's engagement was unknown to Sir Rupert; so in the hope that it would be disagreeable, he spoke out straight. "Mr. Maxwell, sir. The gentleman engaged to Miss Pethram." "What the devil do you mean?" demanded Sir Rupert, haughtily. "I beg your pardon, sir. I only answered your question." Pethram looked keenly at the man, to read his real meaning; but Belk kept his countenance with the greatest skill, so the baronet was forced to believe that he had spoken in all good faith. "You can go, Belk," he said curtly, turning his horse's head; "and don't forget what I've said." The bailiff looked after him with a savage look in his face. "No, I won't forget," he said to himself, scowling. "That affair's been kept from you, but you know all about it now. If I can find a chance of hurting you, my fine gentleman, I'll do it, to pay you out for your cursed pride this day." Meanwhile Sir Rupert, outwardly calm, was riding home consumed with rage. What! his daughter engaged to a man of whom he knew nothing--of whose very name he was ignorant? It was infamous. And she had never said a word about it. Good heavens! where was Mrs. Belswin, to permit such a thing? Evidently it was common gossip. All the county knew it; and his daughter, whom he loved and trusted, had withheld her confidence. "She's like her mother," said Sir Rupert, between his clenched teeth; "deceptive in all things. Never mind, I'll get the truth out of her before the day is an hour older, and then--Oh, these women! these women! daughters and wives, they are all the same. They smile, they kiss, they betray; and we poor fools believe them." Touching his horse with the spur, he rode at full gallop up the avenue, in order to relieve his over-burdened feelings; and, when he was once more in his own study, sent for his daughter without delay. Kaituna obeyed this unexpected summons with considerable trepidation, having, with feminine instinct, guessed the reason for which her father wanted to see her so suddenly. She found him standing in front of the fireplace, with his hands behind his back, and a stern look on his face--a look she had never before seen directed at her. "Will you take a chair," said Pethram, with glacial politeness. "I'm sorry to trouble you about a disagreeable matter; but, being your father, I owe it to myself and to you to speak." She sat down in the chair he indicated with a sinking heart, and waited in silence to hear his reproaches. Sir Rupert, however, had no intention of making any; he disliked a scene, and was moreover skilful in using that irony which cuts like a knife, and which is far more effective than unreasoning rage. "So you have deceived me, Kaituna?" "Father!" "Am I your father? I hardly think so, when you conceal from me the most important event of your life."