chauffeur would have combined to detain me. But on the way back here—did you assume that when you took me in charge you had my parole not to try to depart?"
"No," she said. "I don't believe Father depended entirely on that."
"You mean that he has made arrangements so that if I—exceeded the directions given me, I would be picked up?"
"I don't know exactly what they are, but you may be sure that they are made if they are necessary."
"Thank you," Eaton acknowledged.
She was silent for a moment, thoughtful. "Do you mean that you have been considering this afternoon the possibilities of escape?"
"It would be only natural for me to do that, would it not?" he parried.
"No."
"Why not?"
"I don't mean that you might not try to exceed the limits Father has set for you; you might try that, and of course you would be prevented. But you will not" (she hesitated, and when she went on she was quoting her father) "—sacrifice your position here."
"Why not?"
"Because you tried to gain it—or—or if not exactly that, at least you had some object in wanting to be near Father which you have not yet gained." She hesitated once more, not looking at him. Her words were unconvincing to herself; that morning, when her father had spoken them, they had been quite convincing, but since this afternoon she was no longer sure of their truth. What it was that had happened during
