"Old, eh?"

"Oh no, no!" she said, "but I'm a girl--and I couldn't--"

"Why not? It seems to me it would work well enough, my dear."

"I couldn't!--I couldn't!" she repeated.

"Is it Master Tom?" he asked, like an idiot.

"No."

"Because he ought to marry Lena Lakeman and no one else."

"And I can't marry any one," she answered.

He stood still for a moment, holding the hands that she had held out, looking at her gravely. When he spoke there was real feeling in his voice, and Margaret knew it.

"Think it over," he said. "I would be very kind to you, dear; you should do pretty much as you liked, and there's no fool like an old fool, remember. I didn't mean to say this when I came in--hadn't an idea of it; but I think it's a way out, and a good one. I am very lonely sometimes; I should be another man if I had a girl to look after, and an old fogy would perhaps delight in your girlhood more than a boy would know how to do. I think I'll run over to Dieppe for a few days instead of going to Chidhurst, and come and hear what you have to say to me when I return."

"It will be just the same," she answered.

"You don't know;" he shook her hand and hesitated, then stooped and kissed her forehead. "I have known your father all my life, and would do well by you," he said.

He walked away from Great College Street muttering to himself. "Upon my life, I believe she's in love with Tom. I don't know what Hilda Lakeman will say to it all. I wonder if Hilda was lying? She generally is.

Pretty fool I've made of myself, for I don't believe the girl will ever look at me. I wish she would. I suppose now she'll go and tell Tom; that'll be the next thing, and he will laugh at me. Best thing I can do is to tell him myself, and have done with it. Here! Hi!" and he stopped a hansom. "Stratton Street." He got in rather slowly. "I'm blest if there isn't a twinge of gout in my foot now--just to remind me that I'm an a.s.s, I suppose." He met Tom coming out of his house.

"Just wanted to see you for a minute--can you come back?"

"All right; come along," and Tom led the way into the house.

"Look here, my dear boy, I came to speak to you about Margaret Vincent.

You know she wrote to me?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, it seems to me sheer idiotcy--worse, almost a crime--that Vincent's girl should be here alone in lodgings and apparently stark, staring mad about the stage."

"I have told her so--but I am looking after her."

"Which only makes matters worse; besides, the Lakemans won't like it."

"It doesn't matter to them."

"Well, but I suppose you are going to marry Lena some day?"

"I never dreamed of it."

"Never dreamed of it?" Sir George repeated, looking at him incredulously, and then with a glimmering of common-sense it occurred to him not to repeat Mrs. Lakeman's confidence. "But you are going to them in Scotland?"

"I ought. Lena's very ill, I fear, and Mrs. Lakeman telegraphs to me every day to go and cheer them up."

"Humph!" said Sir George to himself, "trust Hilda for knowing what she's about. Well," he added, aloud, "I didn't think it was a good thing for that girl to be here in London alone, and I knew that you were due in Scotland and belonged to the Lakemans--"

"To the Lakemans?" Tom repeated, rather bewildered.

"So, when I went round to see her just now, I thought the only way out of the difficulty was--was--well, the fact is, I asked her to marry me."

"Lor'!" Tom said, and opened his blue eyes very wide. "What did she say?"

"Wouldn't look at me. Now, of course, I feel that I have made a fool of myself, and upon my life I haven't the courage to go near her again for a bit. Think I'll run over to Dieppe and shake it off. What I want to say is"--he stopped, for it suddenly occurred to him that he might be mismanaging things all round. "Something must be done about the girl, you know," he said.

Tom held out his hand.

"It's all right," he answered; "don't worry about her; I'll see that she doesn't come to grief."

Sir George looked back at him and understood. "I know you are a good boy," he said, and grasped Tom's hand, "and will do the best you can.

Don't think me an old fool. I did it as much for her sake as my own. I shall come back next week and look her up again before I go to Chidhurst." And he took his departure.

But Tom stayed behind, and thought things over more seriously than was his wont. "I wish Mrs. Lakeman would be quiet, or Lena would get better. I ought to go to them, I suppose, but can't till this matter is settled." Then he went down to the theatre and fetched Margaret from her rehearsal; it was nearly three o'clock before it was over.

"I have had two telegrams," she told him. "Mr. Farley, I suppose, told Mrs. Lakeman that I was in London, and she has sent me this."

He took it from her and read:

"Come and stay with us here. Pitlochry--train leaves Euston to-morrow night at eight; meet you at Perth; ask Farley to see you off."

Mrs. Lakeman was always practical and full of detail. The other telegram was from Lena, and ran:

"Do come, little Margaret; we want you."

"What are you going to do?" asked Tom.

"I telegraphed back, 'Thank you very much, but quite impossible.'"

"Good! good!" but his voice was a little absent. He was becoming serious.

Miss Hunstan had written, but from a cheering point of view; for she, too, had once set out on her way through the world alone.

"I wish I'd been there to receive you," she said in her letter; "but when I come back you will be in your rooms above, and I in mine beneath. We must be friends and help each other."

"It's just like her," said Tom; "but she's a dear, you know. By-the-way, I saw Stringer just now; he told me he had been to see you."

"Yes," Margaret answered, uneasily. They were in a hansom by this time, driving to Great College Street.