“Perhaps by inheritance,” said Cleek, as they walked on again.  “Once upon a time, Miss Lorne, there was a—­er—­lady of extremely high position who, at a time when she should have been giving her thoughts to—­well, more serious things, used to play with one of those curious little rubber faces which you can pinch up into all sorts of distorted countenances—­you have seen the things, no doubt.  She would sit for hours screaming with laughter over the droll shapes into which she squeezed the thing.  Afterward, when her little son was born, he inherited the trick of that rubber face as a birthright.  It may have been the same case with me.  Let us say it was, and drop the subject, since you have not found the sight a pleasing one.  Now tell me something, please, that I want to know about you.”

CHAPTER II

“About me, Mr. Cleek?”

“Yes.  You spoke about there being a change in your circumstances—­spoke as though you thought I knew.  I do not; but I should like to if I may.  It will perhaps explain why you are out alone and in this neighbourhood at this time of night.”

“It will,” she said, with just a shadow of deeper colour coming into her cheeks.  “The house you saw me coming out of is the residence of a friend and former schoolmate.  I went there to inquire if she could help me in any way to secure a position; and stopped later than I realised.”

“Procure you a position, Miss Lorne?  A position as what?”

“Companion, amanuensis, governess—­anything that,” with a laugh and a blush, “‘respectable young females’ may do to earn a living when they come down in the world.  You may possibly have heard that my uncle, Sir Horace, has married again.  I think you must have done so, for the papers were full of it at the time.  But I forget”—­quizzically—­“you don’t read newspapers, do you, even when they contain accounts of your own greatness.”

“I wonder if I deserve that?  At any rate, I got it,” said Cleek with a laugh.  “Yes, I heard all about Sir Horace’s wedding.  Some four or five months ago, wasn’t it?”

“No, three—­three, last Thursday, the fourteenth.  A woman doesn’t forget the date of her enforced abdication.  The new Lady Wyvern soon let me know that I was a superfluous person in the household.  To-day, I came to the conclusion to leave it; and have taken the first actual step toward doing so.  A lucky step, too, I fancy; or, at least, it promises to be.”

“As how?”

“My friend knows of two people who would be likely to need me:  one, a titled lady here in England, who might be ’very glad to have me’—­I am quoting that, please—­as governess to her little boy.  The other, a young French girl who is returning shortly to Paris, who also might be ’glad to have me’ as companion.  Of course, I would sooner remain in England, but—­well, it is nicer to be a companion than a governess; and the young lady is very nearly my own age.  Indeed, we were actually at the same school together when we were very little girls.”