Fynes) to approve her conduct.
And at the same time implying that she did not care, that it was for
their own sakes that she hoped they would "go against the world--the
horrid world which had crushed poor papa."

Fyne called upon me to admit that this was pretty cool--considering.
And there was another thing, too. It seems that for the last six months
(she had been assisting two ladies who kept a kindergarten school in
Bayswater--a mere pittance), Flora had insisted on devoting all her
spare time to the study of the trial. She had been looking up files of
old newspapers, and working herself up into a state of indignation with
what she called the injustice and the hypocrisy of the prosecution. Her
father, Fyne reminded me, had made some palpable hits in his answers in
Court, and she had fastened on them triumphantly. She had reached the
conclusion of her father's innocence, and had been brooding over it.
Mrs Fyne had pointed out to him the danger of this.

The train ran into the station and Fyne, jumping out directly it came to
a standstill, seemed glad to cut short the conversation. We walked in
silence a little way, boarded a bus, then walked again. I don't suppose
that since the days of his childhood, when surely he was taken to see
the Tower, he had been once east of Temple Bar. He looked about him
sullenly; and when I pointed out in the distance the rounded front of
the Eastern Hotel at the bifurcation of two very broad, mean, shabby
thoroughfares, rising like a grey stucco tower above the lowly roofs of
the dirty-yellow, two-storey houses, he only grunted disapprovingly.

"I wouldn't lay too much stress on what you have been telling me," I
observed quietly as we approached that unattractive building. "No man
will believe a girl who has just accepted his suit to be not
well-balanced,--you know."

"Oh, accepted his suit," muttered Fyne, who seemed to have been very
thoroughly convinced indeed. "It may have been the other way about."
And then he added: "I am going through with it."

I said that this was very praiseworthy but that a certain moderation of
statement--He waved his hand at me and mended his pace. I guessed that
he was anxious to get his mission over as quickly as possible. He
barely gave himself time to shake hands with me and made a rush at the
narrow glass door with the words Hotel Entrance on it. It swung to
behind his back with no more noise than the snap of a toothless jaw.

The absu