Compton. And then she remembered, suddenly, his anxiety about the
carriage on the distant road, his care to place himself where he could
see it. She had thought with a little scorn that this was a proof of his
frivolity, of the necessity of seeing people, whoever these people might
be. But now there began to be in it something that could have a deeper
meaning. For whom was he looking? Who might be coming? Stories she had
heard of fugitives from justice, of swindlers taking refuge in the
innocence of their families, came up into her mind. Could it be possible
that Elinor's pure name could be entangled in such a guilty web as this?

CHAPTER XI.

"Funny old poop!" said Compton. "And that is your Rector, Nell. I shall
tell Dick there's rare fun to be had in that house: but not for me. I
know what I shall be thinking of all the time I'm there. Odious little
Nell! to interfere like this with a fellow's fun. But I say, who's that
woman who knows me or my family?--much good may it do her, as I said
before. Tell me, Nell, did she speak ill of me?"

"Oh, Phil, how could you ask? or what would it matter if she spoke ever
so ill?"

"She did then," he said with a graver face. "Somebody was bound to do
it. And what did she say?"

"Oh, what does it matter, Phil? I don't remember; nothing of any
consequence. We paid no attention, of course, neither mamma nor I."

"That was plucky of the old girl," said Compton. "I didn't suppose you
would give ear, my Nell. Ain't so sure about her. If I'd been your
father, my pet, I should never have given you to Phil Compton. And
that's the fact: I wonder if the old lady would like to reconsider the
situation now."

"Phil!" said Elinor, clinging to his arm.

"Perhaps it would be best for you if you were to do so, Nell, or if she
were to insist upon it. Eh! You don't know me, my darling, that's the
fact. You're too good to understand us. We're all the same, from the old
governor downwards--a bad lot. I feel a kind of remorseful over you,
child, to-day. That rosy old bloke, though he's a snob, makes a man
think of innocence somehow. I do believe you oughtn't to marry me,
Nell."

"Oh, Phil! what do you mean? You cannot mean what you say."

"I suppose I don't, or I shouldn't say it, Nell. I shouldn't certainly,
if I thought you were likely to take my advice. It's a kind of luxury to
tell you we're a bad lot, and bid you throw me over, when I know all
along you won't."

"I should th