Richard told his parents where he had been, and asked if he might invite his friends for the next Sunday. They made no objection, and when Arthur and Alice came, they received them kindly. Richard took Arthur to the shop and showed him the job he was working on at the time, lauding what he did as giving more satisfaction than the mere binding itself.

“It would be much easier,” he said, “to make that volume look new, but how much more delightful to send it out with a revived assertion of its ancient self!”

While the youths were having their talk, Alice was in Jane’s bedroom, undergoing the probing of her hostess, the object of which the girl could not suspect. Caught by a certain look in her sweet face, Jane had set herself to learn from her what she might about her people and her background.

“Is your father alive, my dear?” she asked, with her keen black eyes on Alice’s face.

The girl grew red, and for a moment did not answer. Jane pursued.

“What was his trade or profession?” she inquired.

The girl said nothing, and the merciless questioning went on.

“Tell me something about him, dear. Do you remember him? Or did he die when you were a child?”

“I do not remember him,” answered Alice. “I do not know if I ever saw him.”

“Did your mother never tell you what he was like?”

“She told me once he was very handsome—the handsomest man she ever saw—but cruel—so cruel!” she said. “I don’t want to talk about him, please, ma’am,” concluded Alice, the tears beginning to run down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, my dear, to hurt you, but I’m not doing it from curiosity. You look so like a man I once knew, and your brother had something of the same look, I wanted to know what I could about you.”

“What sort was the man we remind you of?” asked Alice with a feeble attempt at a smile. “Not a very bad man, I hope!”

“Well, not very good, if you ask me. He was what people call a gentleman.”

“Was that all?”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought he might be a nobleman?”

“Oh!—well, he was that.”

“Do tell me something about him!” said Alice eagerly. “What do you know about him?”

“More than I choose to tell. It may not be the same man at all,” said Jane. “But we will forget him now.”

There was a tone of displeasure in her voice, which Alice assumed to be her fault. The brief exchange made her yet more troubled and perplexed. But neither asked any more questions. Jane took her guest back to the sitting room.

The moment her brother came from the workshop, Alice said to him, “Are you ready, Arthur? We had better be going.”

Arthur was a gentle creature and seldom opposed her. He seemed a little surprised, however, and asked if she was feeling ill. But Richard, who had been looking forward to a talk with Alice and wanted to show her his little library, was especially disappointed. He begged her to change her mind. But she insisted on going. Therefore, he put on his hat to walk with them. But Jane called him, whispering that she would be particularly appreciative if he would go to church with her that evening. He said he did not want to go to church. But she insisted, and he yielded, though not with the best of grace.