"Well! well!" he growled, but not ill-naturedly, "it's a morbid
curiosity that brings you here. Better drop it, girl; it won't do
you any good in the eyes of sensible people."

"Thank you," was her demure reply, her lips dimpling at the
corners in a way to shock the sensitive Mr. Sutherland.

Glancing from her to the still outlines of the noble figure on the
couch, he remarked with an air of mild reproof:

"I do not understand you, Miss Page. If this solemn sight has no
power to stop your coquetries, nothing can. As for your curiosity,
it is both ill-timed and unwomanly. Let me see you leave this
house at once, Miss Page; and if in the few hours which must
elapse before breakfast you can find time to pack your trunks, you
will still farther oblige me."

"Oh, don't send me away, I entreat you."

It was a cry from her inner heart, which she probably regretted,
for she instantly sought to cover up her inadvertent self-betrayal
by a submissive bend of the head and a step backward. Neither Mr.
Fenton nor Mr. Sutherland seemed to hear the one or see the other,
their attention having returned to the more serious matter in
hand.

"The dress which our poor friend wears shows her to have been
struck before retiring," commented Mr. Sutherland, after another
short survey of Mrs. Webb's figure. "If Philemon--"