"Oh, often, papa, and he kisses the other little boys too when we're in the playground, and he's so kind to us in the schoolroom."
"Schoolroom! what schoolroom? Who are you talking about, Freddy?"
"About Mr. Henry Halford, papa; he used to teach the little boys' class at our school—Dr. Halford's, you know, papa, where I go at Englefield Grange. Dr. Halford is Mr. Henry's father. He hasn't taught us since Easter, because he's been to Oxford learning to be a clergy man."
There was silence for a few moments. Mr. Armstrong glanced at his wife and daughter.
"Did you know this when we met the father and son at Drummond's?" he asked his wife.
"Of course I did," she replied.
"Why did you not mention it to me?"
Much as Mrs. Armstrong dreaded an angry word from her husband, she could not utter an untruth.
"I had my reasons," she said, calmly; "they cannot be explained now, I will tell you when we are alone."
"And did you know it, Mary?" asked her father, as he saw the flushed face on which blushes had fixed a colour that made his daughter look as if she were painted.