y received a most alarming straight tip
from somebody in the City arrived in Brighton, at about lunch-time, with
something very much in the nature of a deadly bomb in his possession.
But he knew better than to throw it on the public pavement. He ate his
lunch impenetrably, sitting opposite Flora de Barral, and then, on some
excuse, closeted himself with the woman whom little Fyne's charity
described (with a slight hesitation of speech however) as his "Aunt."

What they said to each other in private we can imagine. She came out of
her own sitting-room with red spots on her cheek-bones, which having
provoked a question from her "beloved" charge, were accounted for by a
curt "I have a headache coming on." But we may be certain that the talk
being over she must have said to that young blackguard: "You had better
take her out for a ride as usual." We have proof positive of this in
Fyne and Mrs Fyne observing them mount at the door and pass under the
windows of their sitting-room, talking together, and the poor girl all
smiles; because she enjoyed in all innocence the company of Charley.
She made no secret of it whatever to Mrs Fyne; in fact, she had
confided to her, long before, that she liked him very much: a confidence
which had filled Mrs Fyne with desolation and that sense of powerless
anguish which is experienced in certain kinds of nightmare. For how
could she warn the girl? She did venture to tell her once that she
didn't like Mr Charley. Miss de Barral heard her with astonishment.
How was it possible not to like Charley? Afterwards with naive loyalty
she told Mrs Fyne that, immensely as she was fond of her she could not
hear a word against Charley--the wonderful Charley.

The daughter of de Barral probably enjoyed her jolly ride with the jolly
Charley (infinitely more jolly than going out with a stupid old
riding-master), very much indeed, because the Fynes saw them coming back
at a later hour than usual. In fact it was getting nearly dark. On
dismounting, helped off by the delightful Charley, she patted the neck
of her horse and went up the steps. Her last ride. She was then within
a few days of her sixteenth birthday, a slight figure in a riding habit,
rather shorter than the average height for her age, in a black bowler
hat from under which her fine rippling dark hair cut square at the ends
was hanging well down her back. The delightful Charley mounted again to
take the two horses round to the mews.