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 where I was brought up. I thought it would be such fun: I was always good at theatricals. I will never do anything silly again. And to-morrow I’ll go away, and you need never see me again. And you have got the money and the old place, haven’t you? And I got them for you—and—do forgive me. It began as a silly schoolgirl’s joke indeed.”

“But—a convent! You have read and thought”

“It was my father. He made me read and think; and when he died all the money went, and my mother is poor. Oh, Michael, don’t be so flinty! Say you forgive me before I go! It all began in a joke!”

“Began. Yes. But why did you go on?”

“Because I—I didn’t like Sylvia—and I liked you—rather—but I won’t be a nuisance. I’ll go back to mother. Say you forgive me. I’ll go by the first train in the morning.”

“The first train,” said Michael absently, “is the 9.17; but to-morrow is Christmas Day—I daresay they’ll run the same as on Sunday.”

She took her white cloak from the settle by the fire.

“Good night,” she said sadly; “you are very hard. Won’t you even shake hands?”