She hesitated, glancing at an open door close by, and then moved towards it as if she expected him to follow her.  Foster did so and found himself in a small drawing-room, where she sat down on a sofa and waited for him to speak.  Instead he stood opposite, pondering.  The girl was pretty and fashionably dressed, but he had ground for thinking some of her friends or relatives were dangerous criminals.  It did not, however, follow that she took part in their plots, and although she obviously knew something about what was going on, he did not believe she knew it was connected with the tragedy at Gardner’s Crossing.  He admitted that he was perhaps giving way to romantic sentiment, but he was sorry for the girl and thought her Daly’s victim.  The fellow was handsome and must have charm, since he had been able to influence Carmen, who was strong-willed and clever.

“Well?” she said presently.

“I saw your name in the book, Miss Huntley, and know whom you came with.  I think you ought to go back to Edinburgh at once and must urge you strongly not to go to Canada.”

It was plain that she understood him, for the blood rushed into her face and he saw that she felt some confusion.  This seemed to indicate that she was not a hardened adventuress.

“To begin with, I am not going to Canada—­I did not mean to go,” she said, and her eyes sparkled as she added:  “But you are guilty of intolerable rudeness.  Why do you presume to interfere?”

“I suppose I am rude; I’m certainly unconventional.  But you gave me some advice in Edinburgh and I was grateful, because I saw you meant well.  Can’t you believe that I mean well, too?”

She gave him a quick, half-puzzled, half-nervous glance, but did not answer, and he resumed:  “Anyhow, you would run a greater risk in Canada than I did in Edinburgh, and you were rash in coming to Carlisle.”

“But I’m not going to Canada!” she broke out.

“Don’t you believe me?”

“I suppose I must,” said Foster.  “But I think you ought to go home.”

She laughed, a rather strained laugh.  “You are conventional enough to think I would be safe there.  How do you know what kind of a home I have?”

“I know nothing about it,” Foster admitted.  “I find you here with a dangerous companion and dare say I haven’t taken a very tactful line in trying to warn you.  That’s all.”

There was silence for the next few moments and he felt sympathetic as he watched her disturbed face.  Her anger had vanished and he thought she was grappling with doubt and alarm.  In the meantime, he was not free from embarrassment.  It was an awkward business, and he had not managed it very well.  Then she got up and stood looking at him calmly.

“You have gone too far, in one sense, but not far enough in another.  You must be plainer if you want to justify your conduct.”

“I see that, but am afraid you’ll have to take my honesty for granted, because I can’t tell you anything more, except that the man you came with is not to be trusted and may involve you in the difficulties that threaten him.  You must think of me as a stranger to whom you tried to do a good turn and who has showed his gratitude in a clumsy way.”