Mr. Etheridge offered no explanation of his visit to London, and she asked for none; but while he sat with his usual silent, dreamy taciturnity, she talked to him.
Frank sat and listened, scarcely taking his eyes off her.
Presently Mr. Etheridge looked up.
"Where have you been this evening, Stella?" he asked.
A sudden blush covered her face, but though Frank saw it, his father did not.
"I have been into the woods," she said, "to the river."
He nodded.
"Very beautiful. The witches' trysting-place, they call it," he added, absently.
Stella's face paled, and she hung her head.
"You were rather late, weren't you?"