long stroll. At half-past one he presented himself at Mrs Hopgood's
house.

'I have had a letter from London,' said Clara to Frank, 'telling me a
most extraordinary story, and I should like to know what you think of
it. A man, who was left a widower, had an only child, a lovely
daughter of about fourteen years old, in whose existence his own was
completely wrapped up. She was subject at times to curious fits of
self-absorption or absence of mind, and while she was under their
influence she resembled a somnambulist rather than a sane human being
awake. Her father would not take her to a physician, for he dreaded
lest he should be advised to send her away from home, and he also
feared the effect which any recognition of her disorder might have
upon her. He believed that in obscure and half-mental diseases like
hers, it was prudent to suppress all notice of them, and that if he
behaved to her as if she were perfectly well, she would stand a
chance of recovery. Moreover, the child was visibly improving, and
it was probable that the disturbance in her health would be speedily
outgrown. One hot day he went out shopping with her, and he observed
that she was tired and strange in her manner, although she was not
ill, or, at least, not so ill as he had often before seen her. The
few purchases they had to make at the draper's were completed, and
they went out into the street. He took her hand-bag, and, in doing
so, it opened and he saw to his horror a white silk pocket-
handkerchief crumpled up in it, which he instantly recognised as one
which had been shown him five minutes before, but he had not bought.
The next moment a hand was on his shoulder. It was that of an
assistant, who requested that they would both return for a few
minutes. As they walked the half dozen steps back, the father's
resolution was taken. "I am sixty," he thought to himself, "and she