LITMIR.BIZ

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cheeks was very delicate and girlish. After all, this could never be the black sheep. He had been quite right to sit down. It was astonishing how seldom it was that his instincts betrayed him. He breathed a little sigh of satisfaction.

      “Come,” he continued, “the world after all is a very small place. We are not altogether strangers, are we? I feel that under the circumstances I have the right to offer you my advice, and if necessary my help. I beg that you will consider me your friend.”

      She looked at him with fluttering eyelids – sweetly grateful. It was such an unexpected stroke of fortune. Sir John was not used to such glances, and he liked them.

      “It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain. Even to my own brother – if I had one – I could not tell everything, and you, although you are so kind, you are almost a stranger, aren’t you?”

      “No, no!” he protested. “You must not think of me as one. Try and consider me your elder brother, or an old family friend, whichever you like best.”

      She thanked him with one of her shy little glances. More than ever Sir John was glad that he had sat down.

      “It is very, very difficult,” she continued, looking steadfastly at the ground. “Only – I have come face to face – with something terrible, and wholly unexpected trouble. I want to leave Paris to-day – this very day. I want to leave it for ever.”

      He looked at her very gravely.

      “But your sister?” he asked. “What of her? Have you quarrelled with her?”

      The girl shook her head.

      “No,” she answered. “I have not quarrelled with her. It is simply our point of view which is altogether different. I want to get away – to go to London. I cannot explain beyond that.”

      “Then I am sure,” Sir John declared, “that I shall not ask you. I know nothing about the matter, but I feel convinced that you are right. You ought to have had better advice two years ago. Paris is not the place for two young girls. I presume that you have been living alone?”

      She sighed gently.

      “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. She is Bohemian to the finger-tips. She makes me feel terribly old-fashioned.”

      Sir John smiled and congratulated himself upon his insight. He was so seldom wrong.

      “The next question, Miss Anna,” he said, “is how am I to help you? I am wholly at your disposal.”

      She looked up at him quickly. Her expression was a little changed, less innocent, more discerning.

      “Anna!” she repeated. “How do you know – why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way.

      “I think,” he said, “that I am right. I am very good at guessing names.”

      “I am really curious,” she persisted. “You must have heard – have you – oh, tell me, won’t you?” she begged. “Have you heard things?”

      The tears stood in her eyes. She leaned a little towards him. Nothing but the publicity of the place and the recollection of that terrible constituency kept him from attempting some perfectly respectful but unmistakable evidence of his sympathy.

      “I am afraid,” he said gravely, “that your sister has been a little indiscreet. It is nothing at all for you to worry about.”

      She looked away from him.

      “I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk.”

      He coughed gently.

      “It was inevitable,” he declared. “It is not, of course, a pleasant subject of conversation for you or for me, yet I think I may venture to suggest to you that your sister’s – er – indiscretions – have reached a point which makes a separation between you almost a necessity.”

      She covered her face with her hands.

      “It – it – must come,” she faltered.

      “I do not lay claim,” he continued, “to any remarkable amount of insight, but it is possible, is it not, that I have stumbled upon your present cause of distress.”

      “You are wonderful!” she murmured.

      He smiled complacently.

      “Not at all. This is simply a chapter of coincidences. Now what I want you to feel is this. I want you to feel that you have found a friend who has a strong desire to be of service to you. Treat me as an elder brother, if you like. He is here by your side. How can he help you?”

      She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpet-merchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. Perhaps the Parisian atmosphere had affected him. He leaned towards her, laid his hand tenderly upon hers.

      “I hope you realize,” he went on, in a lower and less assured tone, “that I am in earnest – very much in earnest. You must let me do whatever I can for you. I shall count it a privilege.”

      “I believe you,” she murmured. “I trust you altogether. I am going to take you entirely at your word. I want to leave Paris to-day. Will you lend me the money for my ticket to London?”

      “With all the pleasure in the world,” he answered heartily. “Let me add too that I am thankful for your decision. You have somewhere to go to in London, I hope.”

      She nodded.

      “There is my aunt,” she said. “The one who used to live at Lyndmore. She will take me in until I can make some plans. It will be horribly dull, and she is a very trying person. But anything is better than this.”

      He took out his watch.

      “Let me see,” he said. “Your best route will be via Boulogne and Folkestone at nine o’clock from the Gare du Nord. What about your luggage?”

      “I could get a few of my things, at any rate,” she said. “My sister is sure to be out.”

      “Very well,” he said. “It is just six o’clock now. Supposing you fetch what you can, and if you will allow me, I will see you off. It would give me great pleasure if you would dine with me somewhere first.”

      She looked at him wistfully, but with some unwilling doubt in her wrinkled forehead. It was excellently done, especially as she loved good dinners.

      “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but – don’t you think perhaps – that I had better not?”

      He smiled indulgently.

      “My dear child,” he said, “with me you need have no apprehension. I am almost old enough to be your father.”

      She looked at him with uplifted eyebrows – a look of whimsical incredulity. Sir John felt that after all forty-five was not so very old.

      “That sounds quite absurd,” she answered. “Yet it is my last evening, and I think – if you are sure that you would like to have me – that I will risk it.”

      “We will go to a very quiet place,” he assured her, “a place where I have often taken my own sisters. You will be wearing your travelling dress, and no doubt you would prefer it. Shall we say at half-past seven?”

      She rose from her chair.

      “I will take a carriage,” she said, “and fetch my things.”

      “Let us say that Café Maston, in the Boulevard des Italiennes, at half-past seven then,” he decided. “I shall be waiting for you there, and in the meantime, if you will help yourself – pray don’t look like that. It is a very small affair, after all, and you can pay me back if you will.”

      She took the pocket-book and looked up at him with a little impulsive movement. Her voice shook, her eyes were very soft and melting.

      “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. “I shall never be able to thank you.”

      “Won’t you

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