“Her ladyship is next door. No, my dear!” And Miss Sibson interposed her ample form between Mary and the door. “You cannot go to her until you have eaten and drunk. She does not expect you, and there is no need of such haste. She may live a fortnight, three weeks, a month even! And she must not, my dear, see you with that sad face.” Mary gave way at that. She sat down and burst into tears. The schoolmistress knew nothing of the encounter in Parliament Street, nothing of the meeting on the coach. But she was a sagacious woman, and she discerned something more than the fatigue of the journey, something more than grief for her mother, in the girl’s depression. She said nothing, however, contenting herself with patting her guest on the shoulder and gently removing her wraps and shoes. Then she set a footstool for her in front of the fire and poured out her tea, and placed hot sweetbread before her, and toast, and Sally Lunn. And when Mary, touched by her kindness, flung her arms round her neck and kissed her, she said only, “That’s better, my dear, drink your tea, and then I will tell you all I know.” “I cannot eat anything.” “Oh, yes, you can! After that you are going to see your mother, and then you will come back and take a good night’s rest. To-morrow you will do as you like. Her ladyship is with an old servant next door, through whom she first heard of me.” “Why did she not remain in Bath?” Mary asked. “I cannot tell you,” Miss Sibson answered. “She has whims. If you ask me, I should say that she thought Sir Robert would not find her here, and so could not take you from her.” “But the servants?” Mary said in dismay. “They will tell my father. And indeed——” “Indeed what, my dear?” “I do not wish to hide from him.” “Quite right!” Miss Sibson said. “Quite right, my dear. But I fancy that that was her ladyship’s reason. Perhaps she thought also that when she—that afterwards I should be at hand to take care of you. As a fact,” Miss Sibson continued, rubbing her cheek with the handle of a teaspoon, a sure sign that she was troubled, “I wish that your mother had chosen another place. You don’t ask, my dear, where the children are.” Mary looked at her hostess. “Oh, Miss Sibson!” she exclaimed, conscience-stricken. “You cannot have sent them away for my sake?”