ything about it--naturally," she remarked.

Grange, having fitted the sock on to two fingers, was examining it
with a contemplative air. It struck her abruptly that he was trying to
say something. She waited silently, not without apprehension. She had
no idea as to how much he knew of what had passed between herself and
Nick.

"I say, Miss Roscoe," he blurted out suddenly, "do you hate talking
about these things--very badly, I mean?"

She looked up at him, and was surprised to see emotion on his face. It
had an odd effect upon her, placing her unaccountably at her ease with
him, banishing all her stiffness in a moment. She remembered with a
quick warmth at her heart how she had always liked this man in those
far-off days of her father's protection, how she had always found
something reassuring in his gentle courtesy.

"No," she said, after a moment, speaking with absolute sincerity. "I
can't bear to with--most people; but I don't think I mind with you."

She saw his pleasant smile for an instant. He laid the sock down upon
her knee, and in doing so touched and lightly pressed her hand.

"Thank you," he said simply. "I know I'm not good at expressing
myself, but please believe that I wouldn't hurt you for the world.
Miss Roscoe, I have brought some things with me I think you will like
to have--things that belonged to your father. Sir Reginald Bassett
entrusted them to me--left them, in fact, in my charge, as he found
them. I was coming home, and I asked leave to bring them to you.
Perhaps you would like me to fetch them?"

She was on her feet as he asked the question, on her face such a look
of eagerness as it had not worn for many weary months.

"Oh, please--if you would!" she said, her words falling fast and
breathless. "It has been--such a grief to me--that I had nothing of
his to--to treasure."

He turned at once to the door. The desolation that those words of hers
revealed to him went straight to his man's heart. Poor little girl!
Had the parting been so infernally hard as even now to bring that look
to her eyes? Was her father's memory the only interest she had left
in her sad young life? And all the evening, save for that first brief
moment of their meeting, he had been thinking her cold, impassive,
even cynical.

With a deep pity in his soul he departed on his errand.

Returning with the soft tread which was his peculiarity, he surprised
her with her face in her hands in an attitude of such abandonme