“I hope you will come and see it, this next summer.”

Varick spoke in measured tones, but deep in his heart he not only hoped, but he was determined on something very different—­namely, that the girl now turning her bright, guileless, eager face to his would then be installed at Wyndfell Hall as his wife, and therefore as mistress of the wonderful old house.  And this hope, this imperious determination, turned his mind suddenly to a less agreeable subject of thought—­that is, to Bubbles Dunster.

Had he known what he now knew about Bubbles’ curious gift, he would not have included her in his Christmas party.  He felt that she might become a disturbing element in the pleasant gathering.  Also he was beginning to suspect that she did not like him, and it was a disagreeable, unnerving suspicion in his present mood.

“What do you think of Bubbles Dunster?” he asked.

“Oh, I like her!” cried Helen.  “I think she’s a wonderful girl!” And then her voice took on a graver tinge:  “I couldn’t help being very much impressed last night, Mr. Varick.  You see, my father, who died when I was only eight years old, always called me ‘Girlie.’  Somehow that made me feel as if he was really there.”

“And yet,” said Varick slowly, “Bubbles told you nothing that you didn’t know?  To my mind what happened last night was simply a clever exhibition of thought-reading.  She’s always had the gift.”

“The odd thing was,” said Helen, after a moment’s hesitation, “that she said my father didn’t like my being here. That wasn’t thought-reading—­”

“There’s something a little queer—­a little tricky and malicious sometimes—­about Bubbles,” he said meaningly.

Helen looked at him, startled.  “Is there really?  How—­how horrid!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, you mustn’t take everything Bubbles says as gospel truth,” he observed, lighting a cigarette.  “Still, she’s a very good sort in her way.”

As he looked at her now puzzled, bewildered face, he realized that he had produced on Helen’s mind exactly the impression he had meant to do.  If Bubbles said anything about him which—­well, which he would rather was left unsaid—­Helen would take no notice of it.

CHAPTER VIII

The party spent the rest of the morning in making friends with one another.  Mr. Tapster had already singled out Bubbles Dunster at dinner the night before.  He was one of those men—­there are many such—­who, while professing to despise women, yet devote a great deal of not very profitable thought to them, and to their singular, unexpected, and often untoward behaviour!