She felt that if anybody ought to know it was her uncle; in fact, was it not almost her duty to tell him? On the other hand, she had a considerable affection for her aunt, and shrank from getting her into trouble. The relations between the two had been for years very close, and Mrs. Morrice had always shown her great kindness. Since the introduction of Archie Brookes there had been a certain diminution of affection on her aunt’s part, the new-comer had considerably ousted her. But Rosabelle was a very fair-minded girl, and she did not resent that. There was no blood-tie between her and Mrs. Morrice. The husband and wife got on very comfortably together, but it was easy to see it was a very placid union, that their marriage had not been prompted by any great depth of feeling on either side, and there were no children to draw them closer together. It was only natural, therefore, that she should welcome this young man so closely related to her, the son of a, probably, deeply loved sister. On him she could expend that wealth of maternal feeling which, so far, had never been called into existence, but which resides in the heart of every good, womanly woman. Small wonder that Rosabelle, to a considerable extent, should have receded into the background. Had she been in her aunt’s position, the same thing would most probably have occurred. She had not told it to Dick, she shrank from telling it to her uncle; for the present she was disposed to keep it to herself. Under ordinary circumstances it would have seemed to her a tragedy of the first importance, that this good-looking young nephew was preying upon his aunt’s weakness or fondness for him, to such an extent that she had declared herself to be half ruined. But the greater tragedy of her lover lying under a horrible stigma absorbed all minor ones; she saw them, as it were, only in perspective. The two things could not be in any way related, she felt pretty sure. And yet, as she lay in the darkness, pondering and pondering, suddenly there flashed across her the thought, coming almost with the force of an inspiration, that the detective ought to be told. He had especially impressed upon her at the beginning of their business connection, that she was to report to him any uncommon happening in the Morrice household, irrespective of whether or not it seemed to her of importance. What was troubling her now was certainly not a common or trivial thing. To think was to act. If the knowledge were of benefit to him, he would use it as he thought fit—and after all, the greatest concern of her life at the moment was the restoration of her lover to his former honourable place in the regard of those who knew the real reason of his exile from her uncle’s house. And, if the knowledge was useless to him, she was quite sure of the man; he would never divulge it unless she gave him permission.