“No,” he growled.

“Was she like Mrs. Danvers?”

“No,—she was an angel.”

“And my father, ’Steban?”

“What is the matter with Mr. Danvers?”

“He is not my father,—who is?”

“I don’t know anything about him,” and he resolutely turned his back on her.

She pursued him with questions, but he was deaf to them; at last, however, suddenly wheeling around with one himself, “How did you find out about Mrs. Danvers?”

“It was one day a month ago,” said the girl, in a low voice.

“But how?”