’Mr. Rollo seems to be a man who gives close attention to his duties,’—­rather dryly.

‘I was the proper person to be applied to,’ muttered Mr. Falkirk.  ‘I should like to be informed how this came about?’

But Miss Hazel not giving—­as indeed she was in no position to give—­any light on this point, Mr. Falkirk walked a little more, and then brought up with: 

‘Don’t go again, my dear.’

‘I am not likely to go often anywhere, at such a risk!’ said Wych Hazel, the tide beginning to overflow again.—­’Poor little me!’ she broke out, in a tone that was sorrowful as well as impatient,—­’always in charge of two policemen!  Why, you could almost keep a convict in order with that!’ Then in a moment she sprang up, and coming to her guardian’s side laid her hand on his arm.  ’I beg your pardon, Mr. Falkirk!  I did not mean it in any way to hurt you.’

‘No, my dear,’ said her guardian, gently, laying his hand on hers.  ’I am not hurt.  I understand, as I ought, having seen you twitch yourself out of leading-strings ever since you were old enough to go.  It is rather hard upon you.  But how came it to your knowledge, Hazel?’ And Mr. Falkirk looked grave.

’It came—­through somebody telling Mrs. Coles what was none of her business,’ said the girl, with more energy than exactness of wording.

‘Who did that?’

’I am sure I don’t know, sir.  She talks as if she had known it always.’

‘Like enough.  And she told you!  The whole story, my dear?’ added Mr. Falkirk, gently and softly.

‘I hope there is nothing more!’ said Hazel, again donning her scarlet in hot taste.

‘Enough and too much!’ muttered Mr. Falkirk.  ’Poor child!  So the old guardian is better than the young one, my dear?’

‘It used to be supposed,’ said the girl, dancing off out of the room, ’that twice one is two.  But I am inclined to think that twice one is six!’—­Which was all the satisfaction Mr. Falkirk got.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

FRIENDLY TONGUES.

Yes, it was very hard for her; much harder than any one knew but herself.  The joke was too striking to be passed by, even in the case of an ordinary person; but when it was Miss Kennedy,—­heiress, beauty, and queen of favour,—­all tongues took it up.  She could go nowhere, wear nothing, do nothing, without meeting that one subject face to face.  Many things brought it forward.  Kitty Fisher of course had exasperation in her heart; but there were other (supposably) gentle breasts where even less lovely feelings, of shorter names, found lodgment.  Hazel was condoled with, laughed at, twitted, by turns; until even Mr. Rollo’s name in the distance made her shrink.  Mrs. Coles had not (apparently) made known the conditions upon which he had assumed his office; but Wych Hazel was in daily terror lest she would; and as people often graze the truth which yet they do not know, so hardest of all to bear just now, were Kitty Fisher’s two new names for her:  ‘the Duchess,’ and ‘Your Grace.’  Most people indeed did not know their point, ignorant of Prim’s pet name for Mr. Rollo; but Wych Hazel needed no telling; and her face was sometimes a thing to see.