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quite the word.
    â€œGot a temper of his own,” he remarked. “Looked as if there had been been a good old row with those other two.”
    â€œThere’s always some sort of upset when it’s Inspection,” Olive told him. “He hates it so, and then it takes him away from his work and he has to answer all sorts of questions. They would be only too glad to catch him tripping. They are always as rude to each other as they can be, especially Mr. Broast to Mr. Nat, because Mr. Nat doesn’t know anything about it, and so Mr. Broast gets chances to score off him. I expect that’s what’s happened to-day, and why Mr. Nat went off in such a paddy. All Mr. Nat wants is to sell, so he can get his share of the money.”
    â€œWould Miss Kayne consent? Has she the power?”
    â€œI think Mr. Nat says they could apply to the Courts for permission, I don’t know exactly. He’s tried to talk her over and Mr. Broast was simply furious. Of course, if anything happened to her, it would be different. He would have a much stronger position then.”
    â€œFunny sort of business,” observed Bobby. “I suppose there’s never been any talk of Miss Kayne marrying, has there?”
    Olive stopped and stared at him.
    â€œBobby,” she asked in a small, slightly-awed voice, “you do ask such funny questions.”
    â€œWhy, what’s there funny about that?” he asked, puzzled, puzzled, too by something indefinable in Olive’s tone.
    â€œIt’s just—” she said and paused. “It’s because—” she said again and paused once more. “Somehow,” she said slowly, “you always ask just the questions that count.”
    â€œDoes that count?” he asked. “If it does, I didn’t know.”
    Olive was still looking at him a little strangely.
    â€œI suppose it’s being a detective,” she said. “I suppose things must come together in your mind and then you ask just the one question that matters.”
    â€œMy dear girl,” Bobby protested, “I don’t in the least know what you are talking about.”
    â€œYes, that’s just it,” Olive explained. “You don’t know, you couldn’t know, and all the same… Bobby, Miss Kayne told me something. It’s a sort of secret, she doesn’t want anyone else to know.”
    â€œOlive,” said Bobby gravely, “you must remember I am a man under authority. Anything told me—”
    But Olive laughed and interrupted, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze.
    â€œYou old silly,” she said, “it’s nothing to do with that sort of secret. Only it’s so funny you should ask that just when I was thinking about it. Because Miss Kayne began to talk about our being engaged and she wanted to know if I was awfully happy, and of course I said I was—Bobby, be quiet, of course I had to say that, even if I was breaking my heart in secret, when I am most likely—Bobby, when you’ve quite finished, and if you don’t, I shan’t say another word. She said she had been engaged, too, once, and, well, it’s rather sad and I did feel so sorry for her. She said the man she was engaged to was awfully clever and wrote wonderful letters and lovely poetry in them, But her father didn’t approve, and then he died—I mean the man she was in love with. And she fretted so much her father always wanted to burn the letters, and so to keep them safe she buried them.”
    â€œBuried them?”
    â€œYes, that’s the secret, in a tin box, in a waterproof wrapping. Now she thinks she would like to dig the up and have them published in a book. She thinks they were such lovely letters and some of the poetry so beautiful, they oughtn’t to be lost. So she told me whereabouts she buried them, that’s the special secret I’m not to tell anyone, even you, until she makes up her mind. Only