"I'm not at all sure that I'll come back. It seems to me, especially lately, that my being here is rather a worry to Tony. I seem to vex him without meaning to--and I suppose I am a bit in the way. It has lately begun to dawn upon me that Miss Foster is perfectly right. You don't want 'stray girls' in a house like this."
The matron looked mysterious, she nodded her head thrice, and there was an "I-could-an'-I-would" air about her extremely provocative of curiosity.
"Why do you look like that, Matron, dear? I won't rest till you tell me. Why do you wag your head so solemnly?"
"Have you no idea, Miss Clonmell, what is the matter with Mr. Bevan?"
"I don't know that there's anything the matter with him except that he's a bit tired of term, and perhaps of me, and having to be Uncle Emileen for such a long stretch of country."
"You're very fond of Mr. Bevan, aren't you, Miss Clonmell?"
"Fond of Tony? I adore Tony! there's nobody like him."
"Has it never occurred to you that perhaps Mr. Bevan----"
Matron paused. She was the soul of discretion, and in view of the daring step she contemplated, she stopped short aghast.
"Perhaps what--What about Tony?"