What's Bred in the Bone

t, the very next morning, as Cyril, none the worse for his long imprisonment, sat qui

l, except in the first compartment, which escaped being buried. So there were no lives lost, by a

in the tunnel there for fifteen hours

thought, is bound to criminate himself, even in a flirtation. "It was two in the morning before they dug us

lly to his fellow-traveller in such general terms that Guy was as yet unaware there was a lady i

gue Nevitt, without his violin, entered the room in some haste, all agog with excitement. H

am to see you restored to us alive and well once more. This is really too happy. What a marvellous escape! And what a romantic story! All the clubs are buzzing with it. A char

dy!" he cried aghast. "A charming girl, Nevitt! Then the person who w

s brother's scrutinizing gaze; but he answered w

certain Miss Clifford. She got in at Chetwood. Her people live somewhere

ter's eyes, which tried, witho

at a splendid chance, and what a magnificent introduction! Beauty in distress! A lady in trouble! You console her alone in a tunnel for fifteen hours by yourself at a stre

d, coming down at once to

curtly, after a short pause. "She's distinctly good-looking

ed voice, as if it didn't matter twopence to him, you may be perf

g?" Guy c

say abou

s of avarice?" Montague Nevitt pu

even. She and I had other things to think about, you may be sure, boxed up there so long in that n

d, with a bitter smile. "So the less s

the Devonshire Cliffords, now? For if so, she might really be worth a man's serious attention. They're very good business. They bank at our place; and they're by no means paupers." For Nevitt was a clerk in the well-known banking firm o

g topic by the entrance of the porter with a letter for Cyril. The painter tore it open, and glanced o

. Cyril Waring for his kindness and consideration to

? How much does he charge a tho

also to express at the same time their deep gratitude to Mr. Waring for his friendly efforts, and tr

Tilgate, Thur

alf aloud. He was evidently disappointed at this v

don't quite recollect, I'm afraid; but anyhow, some comical little speck of a sugary, niggery, West Indian Island; and he was made a Companion of St. Michael and St. George when his term was up, just to keep him quiet, don't you know, for he wanted a knighthood, and to shelve him from being appointed to a first-class post like Barbados or Trinidad. If

id, in a very quiet tone, "I didn't ask you about Miss Clifford's fortune. When I want information on that point I'll apply for it plainl

an to put your back up, and I'll tell you what I'll do for you. I'll heap coals of fire on your head, you ungrateful man. I'll return good for evil. You s

fficial Briton, half mummified by long exposure to tropical suns, was sitting in his drawing-room with Mrs.

don't deny it was an awkward situation. Still, there's no harm done, I hope and trust. Elma's happily not a fanciful or foolishly susceptible sort of girl. She sees it's a case for mere ordinary grat

plump, matronly figure, and very staid of countenance; yet there was something in her eye, for all that, that recalled at times the vivid keenness of Elma's, and her cheek had onc

ened little hands contentedly over his narrow waistcoat. "It's a precious odd story, and a doubtful story, and not at all the sort of story one likes one's girl

odies?" Mrs. Clifford inqui

pped from the clouds, as it were, one rainy day, without a friend in the world, plump down into the Charterhouse. There they were well supplied with money, and spent their holidays with a person at Brighton, who wasn't even supposed to be their lawful guardian. Looks fishy, doesn't it? Their names are Cyril and Guy Waring-and that's all they know of themselves. They wer

nfidence. "I've watched her to see, and I don't think she's in love with him.

tly to and fro on the stone kerb of the fender. "I frankly confess, my dear, I don't quite understand it. And Elma's got it too, every bit as bad as you have. Runs in the family, I suppose-runs somehow in the family. After l

like Elma, and rose with a somewhat embarrassed and half-guil

ford crept up to her daughter's room with a silent tread, like some noiseless Oriental, and, pu

er, peeped into the room. Thank Heaven! no snake signs. Elma lay asleep, with one arm above her head, as peacefully as a child, after her terrible adventu

y every-day British matron, "there's no harm done, I'm sure. She doesn't think of this young m