“Oh yes, she could—trust her,” laughed Walter. “It is very odd,” he went on, “but I have always had an idea, somehow, that there was a feminine attraction at Liphook. If it was the young lady we saw with him that morning at Waterloo Station, I don’t think much of her. How did you manage to pay all the bills, Floggie dear? You didn’t owe a penny when I came back, and had saved something too—I never knew such a frugal little woman.” “Steggall’s bill was the worst,” Florence said; “there were endless waggonettes.” “Probably she spent her time in showing Wimple the beauties of the country. How did you manage to pay them all, Floggie?” “Lived on an egg one day, and nothing the next.” “That’s what a woman always does. A man would have robbed Peter to pay Paul. You ought to have a reward. It is too cold at Easter, but if I could get away for a fortnight this Whitsuntide we might take a run to Monte Carlo.” “Monte Carlo makes me think of Mrs. North. I should like to see her again; she was very fascinating.” “Why didn’t you go and see her?” “I was not sure that you would like it. There was evidently something wrong.” He was silent for a few minutes. “Do you know,” he said presently, “when there is something wrong with a woman I think it is a reason for going, and not for staying away. It’s the only chance for setting it right. What is the use of goodness if it isn’t used for the benefit of other people?” “Walter,” Florence said, and she stood up and clasped her hands—“she said nearly the same thing to me that evening she was here. There was something almost desperate in her manner; it has haunted me ever since; and I should have gone to see her but that I was afraid of your being angry.” “What, at your going to see a woman who perhaps needed your help? If she were up a moral tree, you might have done her some good.” “I can’t bear to think I missed a chance of doing that. Walter,” she added, with a sigh, “sometimes I fear that I am very narrow.” “No, dear, you are only a little prim Puritan, and I love you for it as I love you for everything; so please, Floggie, will you take me to Monte Carlo this Whitsuntide, or may I take you?” “You are a wicked spendthrift, as bad as Aunt Anne; I believe it runs in the family. What is to be done with the children while we go to Monte Carlo?” “We’ll leave them with the mother-in-law.” “I wish you wouldn’t call my mother that horrid name.” “I thought it would make you cross. I say, I really do wish we knew what had become of the Wimples.” “I think they must be all right, somehow,” Florence said, “or else——” “Or else she would have arrived to borrow a five-pound note. I wonder how Wimple likes it. Well, darling, I must be off to the office. It’s all agreed about Whitsuntide, then, Fisher permitting.” “Go away,” Florence laughed; “go to the office, you bad person.”