n the color rushed
to her face at the remembrance.

"Miss Lisle," said Percival suddenly, "I am ready to make every
allowance for Mr. Nash, but if--"

"Oh, it was nothing. He was angry, as he had reason to be: that was all.
And you see I am not used to angry men."

"I should hope not. I wish I had been there."

"And I don't," said Judith softly. "I think you might not have been very
patient, and I felt that one ought to be patient for Miss Crawford's
sake. Besides, if you had been there I could not have--Bertie writes in
capital spirits," she continued with a sudden change of tone. "He wants
me to go and join them. He is just the same as ever, only rather proud
of himself."

"Proud of himself! In Heaven's name, why?"

"Why, he is only two-and-twenty, and has secured a comfortable income
for the rest of his life by his own exertions. Naturally, he is proud of
himself." Percival had learned now that Judith never suffered more
keenly than when she spoke of Bertie in a jesting tone, and it pained
him for her sake. He looked sorrowfully at her. "Mr. Thorne," she went
on, "he does not even suspect that what he has done is anything but
praiseworthy and rather clever. He does not so much as mention Miss
Crawford. And I am haunted by a feeling that we have somehow wronged my
mother by wronging her old friend."

Percival did not tell her that he too had had a letter from Bertie. It
was in his pocket as he stood there, and when he went away he took it
out and read it again.

Bertie was as light-hearted as she had said. He enclosed an order for
the money taken from the desk, and hoped Thorne had not wanted it; or,
if he had been put to any inconvenience, he must forgive him this once,
as he, Lisle, did not suppose he should ever run away in that style
again.

"I think the old man will come round without much fuss," Bertie went on.
"We have been very penitent--the waste of note-paper before we could get
our feelings properly expressed was something frightful; but the money
was well laid out, for we have heard from him again, and there is a
perceptible softening in the tone of his letter. Emmeline assures me
that he is passionately fond of music, and reminds me how anxious he was
that she should learn to play. The reasoning does not exactly convince
me, but if the old fellow does but imagine that he has a passion for
music I will conquer him through that. And if the worst comes to the
worst, and he is as stony-hearted as