turning to Miss Wickham, "so Mrs. Roscombe brought you to England, to school. What school?"
"Ryedene School."
"Ryedene! That's one of the most expensive schools in England, isn't it?"
"I don't know. I—perhaps it is."
"I happen to know it is," said Mr. Carless dryly. "Two of my clients have daughters there, now. I've seen their bills! Do you know who paid yours?"
"No," she answered, "I don't know. Mr. Ashton, I suppose."
"You had everything you wanted, I dare say! Clothes, pocket-money, and so on?"
"I've always had everything I wanted," replied Miss Wickham.
"And you were at Ryedene twelve years?"
"Except for the holidays—yes."
"You must be a very learned young lady," suggested Mr. Carless.
Miss Wickham looked round the circle of attentive faces.
"I can play tennis and hockey very well," she said, smiling a little. "And I wasn't bad at cricket the last season or two—we played cricket there. But I'm not up to much at anything else, except that I can talk French decently."
"Physical culture, eh?" observed Mr. Carless, smiling. "Very well! Now, then, in the end Mr. Ashton came home to England, and of course came to see you, and in due course you left school, and came to his house in Markendale Square, where he got a Mrs. Killenhall to look after you. All that correct? Yes? Well, then, I think, from what Mr. Pawle tells
