oward me, with a sudden
look of eagerness in his eyes. "I should like to know what you mean by
that--if you're at liberty to tell me."

"I'd sooner not. It would come better from your son, I think."

"I prefer not to talk to my son about the matter just now. I might wrong
him. I have many worries just now--business and others--and I don't
trust myself to discuss it with him with all the calmness which I should
desire."

"I'm afraid I can do no more than venture to advise you not to come to
any conclusion prematurely."

He broke out again; it was evident that he was living under a strain
which taxed his endurance sorely. "But Amyas is always there! And
she----!"

The sound of Alison's voice came from the hall. "Hush! They're just
coming back. You must wait and see."

A light broke over his face. "You can't possibly mean that it's this
girl?" There was undoubted relief in his tone--but utter surprise, too,
and even contempt. "Oh, but that's on all grounds utterly ridiculous!"

They were in the room again. "Don't say so, don't say so," I had just
time to whisper.

Margaret came in, laughing and merry, recovered from her confusion,
delighted with the chapel, she and Alison one another's slaves. While
she worshiped him, she had almost got to ordering him about; she laughed
at her own airs, and he industriously humored them. They were a pretty
sight together. The grave careworn man at my side watched them, as I
thought, with a closer interest. But it was time for us to go--Lord
Fillingford's business had been long awaiting--and Margaret began to
make her farewells, extracting from Alison a promise that she should
come again soon, and that he would come again soon to Breysgate. I think
that this was the first Fillingford had heard of his having been at
Breysgate at all; his eyes looked wary at the news.

Margaret came to him. "Good-by, Lord Fillingford," she said with shy
friendliness.

He looked intently at her. "I'm glad to have met a friend of my son's,"
he said gravely. She blushed again; he turned to me with brows knit and
eyes full of brooding question.

On the way home Margaret was silent for a while; then she asked, "Did
Lord Fillingford know my father?"

"Yes, he knew him slightly."

"Were they friends?"

"Well, no, I don't think they were, particularly. Not very congenial, I
fancy."

"No, they wouldn't be," she agreed. "Father would have thought him dull
and pompous, wouldn't he? But I think I sh