figure was unformed, her
hands and feet what might have been expected, and it was obvious that
she lacked taste. Were men really attracted by this sort of thing?

"Yes!" Wilhelmina said, "I wish to speak to you. I am not altogether
satisfied about last night."

Letty said nothing. She went red and then white. Wilhelmina's
examination of her was merciless.

"I wish to know," Wilhelmina said, "who your companion was--with whom
you had dinner and supper. I look upon that person as being responsible
for your lost train."

Letty prayed that she might sink into the ground. Her worst imaginings
had not been so bad as this. She remained silent, tongue-tied.

"I'm waiting," Wilhelmina said mercilessly. "I suppose it is obvious
enough, but I wish to hear from your own lips."

"I--he--I don't think that he would like me to tell you, ma'am," she
faltered.

Wilhelmina smiled--unpleasantly.

"Probably not," she answered. "That, however, is beside the question. I
wish to know."

The girl was desperate. It was indeed a quandary with her. To offend the
mistress of Thorpe was something like sacrilege, but she knew very well
what Stephen would have had her do.

"If you please, ma'am," she said at last, "I can't."

Wilhelmina said nothing for a moment, only her eyebrows were slowly
lifted.

"If you do not," she said, calmly, "I must write to your mother and tell
her what I think of your behaviour last night. I do not care to have
people near me who are disobedient, or--foolish."

The girl burst into tears. Wilhelmina watched her with cold patience.

"I presume," she said, "that it was Mr. Macheson. You do not need to
mention his name. You need only say 'Yes!'"

The girl said nothing.

"Mr. Macheson lodged with your mother, I believe?" Wilhelmina continued.

"Yes!" the girl whispered.

"And you waited upon him?"

"Yes!"

The girl lifted her head.

"Mr. Macheson always behaved like a gentleman to me," she said.

Wilhelmina regarded her contemptuously.

"Your ideas of what constitutes gentlemanly behaviour are probably
primitive," she said. "I do not think that I need trouble you for any
direct answer. Still, it would be better for you to give it."

The girl was again silent. There was a knock at the door. The footman
ushered in Stephen Hurd.

He entered confident and smiling. He was wearing a new grey tweed suit,
and he was pleased with himself and the summons which had brought him to
London. But the sight o