to know. She remained silent, therefore, feeling herself an
intruder.

"What do you want to know, my dear?" said her father at last, in a
quiet, business-like tone. He went on writing all the time.

"Is she coming back to us?"

"No."

"Why did she go away?"

"I cannot tell you just now. She had a--a--fairly good reason."

"I thought she must have had that," said Lesley, brightening. "And did
she come here to explain?"

"Partly."

"But why not to us?"

Caspar laid down his pen suddenly, and laughed. "Oh, the insatiable
curiosity of women! I thought you were wiser than most, Lesley, but you
have all the characteristics of your sex. I can't satisfy your
curiosity, to-day, but I will, if I can, in a short time. Will that do?"

Lesley seemed rather hurt. "I don't think I asked questions out of mere
curiosity," she said. "I always liked Kingston."

"And she likes you, my dear--so far you were perfectly right," said her
father, rising, and patting her on the arm. "To use your feminine
parlance, she is quite as 'fond' of you as you can reasonably desire."

"I don't like to hear so much about 'feminine' ways and
characteristics," said Lesley, smiling, and recovering her spirits. "I
always fancy somebody has vexed you when you talk in that cynical
manner."

"That remark is creditable to your penetration," said Mr. Brooke, in his
accustomed tone of gentle raillery, "and, you cannot say that it is not
a very harmless way of letting off steam."

"Who has vexed you then?" said Lesley, looking keenly into his face. It
was a bold question, but her father did not look displeased.

"Suppose I said--you yourself?" he queried, with a certain real gravity
which she was not slow to discover.

The color rushed into her face. She thought of Maurice Kenyon, and the
mistake that he had made. She had long been conscious of her father's
disappointment, but had not expected him to speak of it. She made an
effort to be equal to the situation.

"If you are vexed with me, it would be kinder to tell me of it than to
sneer at all womankind in general," she said, with spirit.

"Right you are, my girl. Well--why have you refused Kenyon?"

Her eyes drooped. "I would rather you did not ask me that, father."

"Nonsense, Lesley. A plain answer to a plain question is easy to give.
Are you in love with any one else?"

"No, indeed," she answered, vehemently; "I am not----"

And then, for some inexplicable reason, she stopped short.