“Come and get warm,” said Erica, drawing a chair toward the fire, but still feeling uncomfortable at the idea of Mr. Fane-Smith's horror and dismay could he have seen his daughter's situation.
“How do you come to be in town, Rose, and where were you robbed?”
“Why, I was going to stay with the Alburys at Sandgale, and left home about three, but at Paddington, when I went to get my ticket, lo and behold my purse had disappeared, and I was left lamenting, like Lord Ullin in the song.”
“Have you any idea who took it?”
“Yes, I rather think it must have been a man on the Paddington platform who walked with a limp. I remember his pushing up against me very roughly, and I suppose that was when he took it. The porters were all horrid about it, though, I could get no one to help me, and I hadn't even the money to get my ticket. At last an old lady, who had heard of my penniless condition, advised me to go to any friends I might happen to have in London, and I bethought me of my cousin Erica. You will befriend me, won't you? For it is impossible to get to Sandgale tonight; there is no other train stopping there.”
“I wish I knew what was right,” said Erica, looking much perplexed. “You see, Rose, I'm afraid Mr. Fane-Smith would not like you to come here.”
“Oh, nonsense,” said Rose, laughing. “He couldn't mind in such a case as this. Why, I can't stay in the street all night. Besides, he doesn't know anything about your home, how should he?”
This was true enough, but still Erica hesitated.
“Who was that white-haired patriarchal-looking man whom I met in the hall?” asked Rose. “A sort of devotional quaker-kind of man.”
Erica laughed aloud at this description.