a scapegrace, eh? A poor, sad outcast like me?" He laughs and leans
towards her, his handsome, dissipated, abominable face close to
hers.

Involuntarily she recoils.

"I hope everyone is good to you," says she. "Why should they not be?
And why do you call yourself an outcast? Only bad people are
outcasts. And bad people," slowly, "are not known, are they?"

"Certainly not," says he, disconcerted. This little girl from a far
land is proving herself too much for him. And it is not her words
that disconcert him so much as the straight, clear, open glance from
the thoughtful eyes.

To turn the conversation into another channel seems desirable to
him.

"I hope you are happy here with my sister," says he, in his anything
but everyday tone.

"Quite happy, thank you. But I should have been happier still, I
think, if I had been allowed to stay with your brother."

Sir Hastings drops his glasses. Good heavens! what kind of a girl is
this!

"To stay with my brother! To _stay,"_ stammers he.

"Yes. He _is_ your brother, isn't he? The professor, I mean. I