"Try and tell me, then, what it all means," he said; "or stay,--first let me get you a glass of wine." He went shuffling along in his slippers to the dining-room, and came back with a wineglass and the little fat decanter, with the silver collar clinking about its neck.

He filled the glass, and held it to her lips, and then stood and looked at her as she drank, his lower lip thrust out, and perplexity and anxiety written on every feature.
Helen handed the glass back to him, and rose.

"Thank you, uncle Archie," she said.

"I--I must go up-stairs now.

I am tired." "But, my dear child," he remonstrated, "my dear Helen, you must tell me what all this means, first." She looked at him entreatingly.