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"Your father has given him a terrible scolding already. He hasn't got
his wits about him you know,--he can't help being queer sometimes. But
what have _you_ been doing with yourself during our absence?" And he
regarded her with friendly scrutiny. "You were crying when I came in.
Now, weren't you?"
She met his gaze quite frankly. "Yes!" she replied, with a plaintive
thrill in her voice. "I could not help it! My heart ached and the tears
came. Somehow I felt that everything was wrong,--and that it was all my
fault--"
"Your fault!" murmured Lorimer, astonished. "My dear Miss Gueldmar, what
do you mean? What _is_ your fault?"
"Everything!" she answered sadly, with a deep sigh. "I am very foolish;
and I am sure I often do wrong without meaning it. Mr. Dyceworthy has
been here and--" she stopped abruptly, and a wave of color flushed her
face.
Lorimer laughed lightly. "Dyceworthy!" he exclaimed. "The mystery is
explained! You have been bored by 'the good religious,' as Pierre calls
him.


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