“You may set your mind at rest on that point,” said I.  “He smuggled her at once aboard the ship, and seems scarcely to have said how d’ye do to her afterwards.  That is the mad part of it.”

" Can I be sure?”

" I would stake my life on it,” said I.

“How do you know?”

" Frankness—­I may say embarrassing frankness is one of the young lady’s drawbacks.”

He looked greatly relieved.  I acquainted him with Carlotta’s antecedents, and outlined the part I had played in the story.

“Then,” said he, “I will see the child back to her home.  I will take her there myself.  I cannot allow you any longer to have the burden of befriending her, when it is my duty to repair my boy’s wrongdoing.”

I explained to him the terror of Hamdi Effendi’s clutches, and told him of my promise.

“Then what is to be done?” he asked.

“If any kind people could be found to receive her into their family, and bring her up like a Christian, I should hand her over with the greatest of pleasure.  If there is one thing I do not require in this house, it is an idle and irresponsible female.  But philanthropists are rare.  Who will take her?”

“I’m afraid I’m not prepared to do that.”

“I never dreamed of having the bad taste to propose it,” said I.  “I merely stated the only alternative to my guardianship.”

“I should be willing—­only too willing—­to contribute towards her support,” said Mr. Robinson.

I thanked him.  But of course this was impossible.  I might as well have allowed the good man to pay my gas bill.

“I know of a nice convent home kept by the Little Sisters of St. Bridget,” said he, tentatively.

“If it were St. Bridget herself,” said I, “I would agree with pleasure.  She is a saint for whom I have a great fascination.  She could work miracles.  When an Irish chieftain made her a facetious grant of as much land as she could cover with her mantle, she bade four of her nuns each take a corner and run north, west, south and east, until her cloak covered several roods.  She could have done the same with the soul of Carlotta.  But the age of miracles is past, and I fear the Little Sisters would only break their gentle hearts over her.  She is an extraordinary creature.”

I know I ought to have given some consideration to the proposal; but I think I must suffer from chronic inflammation of the logical faculty.  It revolted against the suggested congruity of Carlotta and the Little Sisters of St. Bridget.

“What can she be like?” asked the old man, wonderingly.

“Would it pain you to see her?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, in a low voice.  “It would.  But perhaps it would bring me nearer to my unhappy boy.  He seems so far away.”

I rang the bell and summoned Carlotta.

“Perhaps you had better not say who you are,” I suggested.