, and he
said, earnestly:

"Oh, sir, do not think so badly of your daughter. She has not sent the
child on this errand. I would stake my life on it."

"And how long have you taken upon yourself to defend my daughter, Mrs.
Trafford?" asked his uncle coldly. Erle almost repented of his
generous impulse when he heard that hard relentless voice. They had
not noticed their visitor, and Raby, at the other end of the great
room, lost much of what was passing, he was so absorbed with his own
bitter disappointment. As Erle was silent a moment, Mr. Huntingdon
repeated his question.

"Since he knew I had a pretty sister," replied Percy, carelessly.

Erle turned round and their eyes met, but Percy's fell before that
glance of utter contempt; Mr. Huntingdon intercepted the look between
the young men.

"I was not speaking to you, Percy," he observed, curtly; "I should
have thought it was your place to take your mother's part, but you
chose to be silent. Well, it is no affair of mine. Erle, will you be
good enough to answer me a question or two, and then I will trouble
you to send the child home. How often have you visited at my
daughter's house?"

"I can hardly answer that question, sir; I have been several times."

"Did Percy take you?"

"In the first instance, yes; but I have been there alone too," for
Erle's truthful nature scorned subterfuge. The crisis he had dreaded
had come on him at last; but Percy should not see that he was afraid.
He might be weak and vacillating, but he was a gentleman, and a lie
was abhorrent to him. Percy's innuendo might work deadly mischief, but
all the same he would not shelter himself behind a falsehood.

Mr. Huntingdon's hard look involuntarily softened. This show of
manliness on his nephew's part pleased him.

"Of course you went there, knowing that I should disapprove of such
visits. Tell me, is this Fern of whom my grandson speaks so very
attractive?"

"She is very pretty."

"That is all I want to know. Now, will you order the carriage to take
the child home? No, stop, I think Roger had better fetch a cab." But
at this point Fluff began to cry.

"Oh, I am so tired and hungry," she sobbed, "and all those dreadful
bones in my legs, and the crier not come yet. What is the good of a
grandpapa if he has no cakes and things, and on my birthday too!"

Mr. Huntingdon smiled grimly.

"Very well, order the child some refreshment, Erle. After all, she is
but a starved bit of a thing; se