The old man chuckled. "If she only knew what it was for, she wouldn't mind the trouble. It's a secret, don't forget, Mr. Hewson. Now, girlie, take that envelope, and when the bank manager has told you that our kind friend here isn't a burglar, or an escaped convict"—he chuckled again—"give it to him to take to London. But you're not to look inside."
She kissed him lightly, and turned to Hewson.
"We can just catch the local train," she said, a trifle abruptly. "We'll go through the short cut."
She was silent during the walk to the station, and it was not until they were in the train that she looked at him steadily and spoke.
"What is this mystery, Mr. Hewson?"
"I think your father said it was a secret, didn't he?" he answered, lightly.
"Is it something to do with money?"
"It is."
She stared out of the window: then impulsively she laid a hand on his arm.
"He's such a darling," she burst out, "but he's so innocent. He doesn't know anything about money or the world."