d of
the Manor. He received a starvation pittance for his labors, which it
was my duty to augment, a duty which, with many others, I neglected. I
simply gave orders that you should be looked after."

She laughed softly.

"Looked after! Why, I have lived at Tredowen. I have had a governess, a
pony to drive. Heaven knows how many luxuries!"

"That," he interrupted hastily, "is nothing. The house is better
occupied. What I have done for you is less in proportion than the
sixpence you may sometimes have given to a beggar for I am a rich, a
ridiculously rich man, with no possible chance of spending one-quarter
of my income. You had a distinct and obvious claim upon me, and, at no
cost or inconvenience to myself, I have endeavored, through others, to
recognize it."

"I will accept your view of the situation," the girl said, still
smiling, but with a faint note of disappointment in her tone. "I do not
wish to force upon you expressions of gratitude which you would only
find wearisome. But I must thank you! It is in my heart, and I must
speak of it. There, it is over, you see! I shall say no more."

"You are a sensible young lady," Wingrave said, making a motion as
though to rise. "I have only one request to make to you, and that is
that you keep to yourself the knowledge which Mr. Pengarth informs me
that you insisted upon acquiring. You are nearly enough of age now, and
I will make you your own mistress. That is all, I think."

The smile died away from her lips. Her tone became very earnest.

"Sir Wingrave," she said, "for all that you have done for me, I am, as
you know grateful. I would try to tell you how grateful, only I know
that it would weary you. So we will speak only of the future. I cannot
continue to accept--even such magnificent alms as yours."

"What do you mean, child?" he asked, frowning across at her.

"I mean," she said, "that now I am old enough to work, I cannot accept
everything from one upon whom I have no claim. If you will help me a
little still, I shall be more than grateful. But it must be in my own
way."

"You talk about work," he said. "What can you do?"

"I can paint," she answered, "fairly well. I should like to go to London
and have a few lessons. If I cannot make a living at that, I shall try
something else."

"You disappoint me," Wingrave said. "There is no place for you in
London. There are thousands starving there already because they can
paint a little, or sing a little, or fa