which action I felt somewhat awkward, hardly knowing what to say. But the girl spoke at once:
"So you have come back! You refused to take my advice," she said in a low, reproachful voice.
"Miss Featherson," I answered, "I know nothing of your reasons for giving me such advice; but work, occupation, I must have. I daren't say no to anything decent."
"I'm so very sorry," was her answer; "I know you will bitterly regret your action. But there—it's done now," and throwing off her mysterious tone and manner she began to chatter about our coming travels, and I could not help thinking that she was pleased, rather than angry, at my refusal to accept her advice. This was to be her first long journey with her father. She had stayed with him for short periods during her school life at Brighton, but now the dear old days were over.
"Won't you explain your remarks of yesterday?" I inquired after a while. "I cannot understand things at all—why"
"Not another syllable please, Mr. d'Escombe," she interrupted. "I beg you to forget every word I said, and ask you particularly to say nothing to my father." As she spoke I thought
