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“Do you mind not talking nonsense for a minute?” he said mildly. “I shall see my way directly.”

She dropped into instant silence, sitting tense and mute, scarcely even breathing, while the pale blue eyes opposite remained steadily and unblinkingly fixed upon her face.

After a few moments he spoke.

“When does your mother return?”

“To-morrow morning.” She hesitated for a second; then, “Of course she will be furious,” she said. “You won’t be able to argue with her. No one can.”

Rivington’s eyes looked faintly quizzical.

“I don’t propose to try,” he said. “She is, as I well know, an adept in the gentle art of snubbing. And I am no match for her there. She has, moreover, a rooted objection to poor relations, for which I can hardly blame her–a prejudice which, however, I am pleased to note that you do not share.”

He smiled at her with the words, and she flashed him a quick, answering smile, though her lips were quivering.

“I am not a bit like my mother,” she said. “I was always dad’s girl–while he lived. It was he who called me Chirpy. No one else ever did–but you.”

“A great piece of presumption on my part,” said Rivington.

“No. I like you to. It makes you seem like an old friend, which is what I need just now, more than anything.”

“Quite so,” said Rivington. “That qualifies me to advise, I suppose. I hope you won’t be shocked at what I am going to suggest.”

She met his eyes with complete confidence. “I shall do it whatever it is,” she said.

“Don’t be rash,” he rejoined. “It entails a sacrifice. But it is the only thing that occurs to me for the moment. I think if you are wise you will leave London to-night.”

“Leave London!” she echoed, looking startled.

“Yes. Just drop out for a bit, cut everything, and give this business a chance to blow over. Leave a note behind for mamma when she arrives, and tell her why. She’ll understand.”

“But–but–how can I? Dinghra will only follow me, and I shall be more at his mercy than ever in the country.”

“If he finds you,” said Rivington.

“But mother would tell him directly where to look.”

“If she knew herself,” he returned drily.

“Oh!” She stared at him with eyes of grave doubt. “But,” she said, after a moment, “I have no money. I can’t live on nothing.”

“I do,” said Rivington. “You can do the same.”

She shook her head instantly, though she smiled.

“Not on the same nothing, Mr. Rivington.”

He took his hand abruptly from hers.

“Look here, Chirpy,” he said; “don’t be a snob!”

“I’m not,” she protested.

“Yes, you are. It’s atrocious to be put in my place by a chit like you. I won’t put up with it.” He frowned at her ferociously. “You weren’t above asking my help, but if you are above taking it–I’ve done with you.”

“Oh, not really!” she pleaded. “It was foolish of me, I admit, because you really are one of the family. Please don’t scowl so. It doesn’t suit your style of beauty in the least, and I am sure you wouldn’t like to spoil a good impression.”

But he continued to frown uncompromisingly, till she stretched out a conciliatory hand to him across the table.

“Don’t be cross, Knight Errant! I know you are only pretending.”

“Then don’t do it again,” he said, relaxing, and pinching her fingers somewhat heartlessly. “I’m horribly sensitive on some points. As I was saying, it won’t hurt you very badly to live on nothing for a bit, even if you are a lady of extravagant tastes.”

“Oh, but I can work,” she said eagerly. “I can change my name, and go into a shop.”

“Of course,” he said, mildly sarcastic. “You will doubtless find your vocation sooner or later. But that is not the present point. Now, listen! In the county of Hampshire is a little place called Weatherbroom–quite a little place, just a hamlet and a post-office. Just out of the hamlet is a mill with a few acres of farm land attached. It’s awfully picturesque–a regular artists’ place. By the way, are you an artist?”