wants to--to make friends with my daughter! Respectful? Honest? Really!'

When Mr. Whiston became sufficiently agitated to lose his decorous gravity,
he began to splutter, and at such moments he was not impressive. Rose kept
her eyes cast down. She felt her strength once more, the strength of a
wholly reasonable and half-passionate revolt against that tyrannous
propriety which Mr. Whiston worshipped.

'Father--'

'Well, my dear?'

'There is only one thing I dislike in these letters--and that is a
falsehood.'

'I don't understand.'

Rose was flushing. Her nerves grew tense; she had wrought herself to a
simple audacity which overcame small embarrassments.

'Mr. Burroughs says that he followed us home from Paddington to discover
our address. That is not true. He asked me for my name and address in the
train, and gave me his.'

The father gasped.

'He _asked_--? You _gave_--?'

'It was whilst you were away in the refreshment-room,' proceeded the girl,
with singular self-control, in a voice almost matter-of-fact. 'I ought to