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 "Her father? No, what?"

"He's dead; died in October. I heard of it when I returned from your place. Quite a lot of us old-timers attended. Well, I guess he was glad enough, poor chap; I dare say he had been praying for it for years."

"And—Miss Lynde?" asked Miles, thoughtfully.

"She's still here; lives at the same place, Miss Anamite told me; working harder than ever, I suppose. Do you know, old chap, I've been wondering whether"—he paused to push the tobacco down in the bowl—"whether that didn't have something to do with it."

"What?"

"Well, whether she might not have treated you differently if she hadn't had her father to look after. It's just an idea."