“Father, you mustn’t say that. It sounds so——”

“I can imagine a good many circumstances,” he went on, “in which the reappearance of an ex-convict might be embarrassing to his daughter. For example, it might be rather prejudicial to her prospects of a good marriage——”

She drew a sharp breath and looked him in the eyes. He read in her face all that he needed to know.

“We understand each other,” he said gravely. “On such occasions, it is the father’s duty to disappear as quietly as may be. Only, why didn’t you let me know before?”

“I—I tried to, often, but I hadn’t the courage. I was a coward, I know, but I kept on putting it off and off until the last moment—I felt so ashamed.”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he assured her. “Who is the young man? That is, I hope he is young. He is a Frenchman, I suppose?”

“Yes. His name is Paillard—Roger Paillard. He——”

“Of the automobiles Paillard? I congratulate you. And his family, of course, know nothing about me?”

She shook her head. “I am on my way to stay with them for the first time,” she said. “He is an only son, and his mother, of course——”

“She, of course, thinks the world of him. And he is un jeune homme bien élevé, très comme il faut—and all the rest of it?”

He mimicked the precise accents of an elderly Frenchwoman so well that she laughed in spite of herself.

“Very good,” he went on. “I hope you will be happy, my dear. The family skeleton will now return to his cupboard and lock himself in. Where is Roger now, by the way?”

“Outside, in the car. We’ve been lunching, and I only came in to pick up my bag.”

“Then hurry, my dear, hurry. You mustn’t keep him waiting! He will be wondering what has become of you.”

He kissed her lightly, and she turned to go. At the threshold she stopped.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Father, you never said anything about—I mean, you must be terribly short of money. If I can help——”

“Money?” he echoed her gaily. “No, you needn’t worry on that score. We crooks, you know, have always a little nest egg put away somewhere.”

She winced at the ugly word, and the ironically defiant tone in which he uttered it.

“But what are you going to do?” she asked.

“Perhaps Eléonore will let me stay the night here,” he answered. “Even two nights, if I feel like it. I shall be gone before you return, in any case. Then I shall go back to London. Your aunt has kindly promised to put me up for as long as I please.”

“It will be very dull for you,” she murmured.