ially
as--I was afraid--it might filter through him to--to somebody
else--somebody who couldn't be told a beastly secret like that."

Mr. Wedmore nodded.

"And this girl--this Carrie?" said he.

Dudley's face lighted up.

"That's my one comfort in all this," said he, "that it has led to my
finding out the girl and doing something for her. I never heard of her
before. But my father told me she was my half-sister, and they say there
is something in our faces which confirms the story. Anyhow, she's a
grand girl, and I'm going to look after her. She's gone away--"

"Gone away!" repeated Mr. Wedmore, disconcerted.

There had been a lull in the quarrel between him and his son for the
last few days, during which Carrie had avoided Max and Max had avoided
his father.

"Yes," said Dudley. "She would go, and she thought it best to go without
any fuss, leaving me to say good-bye for her. She's all right. I'm going
to look after her; and she's going into training as a hospital nurse."

"Oh, well, I'm sure I hope she'll get on," said Mr. Wedmore, rather
vaguely.

He had been getting used, during the last few days, to the thought of
the pretty, blue-eyed girl as a daughter-in-law, and he found himself
now rather hoping than fearing that Max would stick to his choice.

"Well," said he at last, "I must send the ladies to have a look at you
now, I suppose. I wouldn't let them talk my head off on the first day,
if I were you."

Dudley sprang to his feet. He seemed restless and excited.

"I won't talk much. I won't let them talk much," said he, in an unsteady
voice. "But may I see--may I speak to Doreen?"

Mr. Wedmore nodded good-humoredly.

"Well, you may speak to her, if she'll let you," said he, cheerfully.
"But, really, she's a thorny young person. She's treated young Lindsay,
the curate, very cruelly, and I'm sure he's a much better looking fellow
than you. However, you can try your luck."

Dudley did not wait for any more encouragement. No sooner had Mr.
Wedmore left the room than the convalescent followed. He found Doreen in
the hall, putting a handful of letters on the table ready for the post.
She started when she turned and saw him, and, leaning back with her
hands upon the table, she asked him what he meant by leaving the nice,
warm, ox-roasting fire they had built up expressly for him upstairs.

"I hear you've been treating the curate very badly," said he. "I've come
to ask for an explanation."

Doreen lo