to me to wonder about the girl's future. Mrs. Inglethorp had made no
provisions of any kind for her, but I imagined that John and Mary would
probably insist on her making her home with them--at any rate until the
end of the war. John, I knew, was very fond of her, and would be sorry
to let her go.

John, who had gone into the house, now reappeared. His good-natured face
wore an unaccustomed frown of anger.

"Confound those detectives! I can't think what they're after! They've
been in every room in the house--turning things inside out, and upside
down. It really is too bad! I suppose they took advantage of our all
being out. I shall go for that fellow Japp, when I next see him!"

"Lot of Paul Prys," grunted Miss Howard.

Lawrence opined that they had to make a show of doing something.

Mary Cavendish said nothing.

After tea, I invited Cynthia to come for a walk, and we sauntered off
into the woods together.

"Well?" I inquired, as soon as we were protected from prying eyes by the
leafy screen.

With a sigh, Cynthia flung herself down, and tossed off her hat. The
sunlight, piercing through the branches, turned the auburn of her hair
to quivering gold.

"Mr. Hastings--you are always so kind, and you know such a lot."

It struck me at this moment that Cynthia was really a very charming
girl! Much more charming than Mary, who never said things of that kind.

"Well?" I asked benignantly, as she hesitated.

"I want to ask your advice. What shall I do?"

"Do?"

"Yes. You see, Aunt Emily always told me I should be provided for. I
suppose she forgot, or didn't think she was likely to die--anyway, I am
_not_ provided for! And I don't know what to do. Do you think I ought to
go away from here at once?"

"Good heavens, no! They don't want to part with you, I'm sure."

Cynthia hesitated a moment, plucking up the grass with her tiny hands.
Then she said: "Mrs. Cavendish does. She hates me."

"Hates you?" I cried, astonished.

Cynthia nodded.

"Yes. I don't know why, but she can't bear me; and _he_ can't, either."

"There I know you're wrong," I said warmly. "On the contrary, John is
very fond of you."

"Oh, yes--_John_. I meant Lawrence. Not, of course, that I care whether
Lawrence hates me or not. Still, it's rather horrid when no one loves
you, isn't it?"

"But they do, Cynthia dear," I said earnestly. "I'm sure you are
mistaken. Look, there is John--and Miss Howard--"

Cynthia nodded rather gloomily.