She would have liked to have assured him that he had done Sir Stephen an injustice in thinking him guilty of buying the Brae Wood land in an underhand way, but she knew it would be of no use to do so; for once an idea had got into Mr. Heron’s head it was difficult to destroy it.  For the first time in her life, too, she was concealing something from him.  Once or twice she tried to say: 

“Father, the gentleman who was fishing on the river was Sir Stephen Orme’s son; I have met him two or three times since, and he has asked me to meet him to-morrow;” but she could not.

She knew he would fly into one of the half-childish passions in which he could not be persuaded to listen to reason, and that he would insist upon the breaking off of her acquaintance with Mr. Orme; and there was so much pain in the mere thought of it that her courage failed her.  If she were not to meet him, or if she met him, and told him that she could not remain with him, must not speak to him again, it would be tantamount to telling him that she did not believe his father was innocent; and she did believe it.  Though she knew so little of Mr. Orme, she felt that she could trust him.

So she sat almost silent, thinking of what Jessie had told her, and wondering why Stafford Orme should leave the gay party at the Villa to ride with her.  Once only in the course of the meal did her father speak.  He looked up suddenly, with a quick, almost cunning, glance, and said: 

“Can you let me have some money, Ida?  I want to order some books.  There’s a copy of the Percy ‘Reliques’ in the catalogue I should like to buy.”

“How much is it, father?” she asked.

“Oh, five pounds will do,” he said, vaguely.  “There are one or two other books.”

She made a hasty calculation:  five pounds was a large sum to her; but she smiled as she said: 

“You are very extravagant, dear.  There is already a copy of the ‘Reliques’ in the library.”

He looked confused for a moment, then he said: 

“But not with these notes—­not with these notes!  They’re valuable, and the book is cheap.”

“Very well, dear,” she responded; and she went to the antique bureau and, unlocking it, took a five-pound note from a cedar box.

He watched her covertly, with a painful eagerness.

“I suppose you have a large nest egg there, eh, Ida?” he remarked, with a quavering laugh.

“No:  a very little one,” she responded. “’Not nearly enough to pay the quarterly bills.  But never mind, dear; there it is.  You must show me the books when they come; I never saw the last you ordered, you know!”

He took the note with an assumption of indifference but with a gleam of satisfaction in his sunken eyes.

“Didn’t you?” he said.  “I must have forgotten.  You’re always so busy; but I’ll show you these, if you’ll remind me.  You must be careful of the money, Ida; you must keep down the expenses.  We’re poor, very poor, you know; and the cost of living and servants is very great—­very great.”