CHAPTER XIV. — A CYPHER AND A TY.
Dolores was coming down to breakfast the next morning when Colonel Mohun’s door opened. He exclaimed, ‘My little Dolly, good morning!’ stooped down and kissed her.
Then, standing still a moment, and holding her hand, he said—
‘Dolly, it was not you I saw at Darminster station?’
It was a terrible shock. Some one, no doubt, was trying to set him against her. And should she betray Constance and her uncle? At any rate, almost before she knew what she was saying, ‘No, Uncle Regie,’ was out of her mouth, and her conscience was being answered with ‘How do I know it was me that he saw? these fur capes are very common.’
‘I thought not,’ he answered, kindly. ‘Look here, Dolly, I want one word with you. Did your father ever leave anything in charge with you for Mr. Flinders? Did he ever speak to you about him?’
‘Never,’ Dolores truly answered.
‘Because, my dear, though it’s a hard thing to say, and your poor mother felt bound to him, he is a slippery fellow—a scamp, in fact, and if ever he writes to you here, you had better send the letter straight off to me, and I’ll see what’s to be done. He never has, I suppose?’
‘No,’ said Dolores, answering the word here, and foolishly feeling the involvement too great, and Constance too much concerned in it for her to confess to her uncle what had really happened. Indeed, the first falsehood held her to the second; and there was no more time, for Lord Rotherwood was coming out of his room further down the passage. And after the greetings, as she went downstairs before the two gentlemen, she was sure she heard Uncle Regie say, ‘She’s all right.’ What could it mean? Was a storm averted? or was it brewing? Could that spiteful Aunt Jane and her questions about the weather be at the bottom of it?