Not wishing to add to her almost painful embarrassment, Rupert tactfully changed the subject, but being an unusually observant man, he noticed that she was not really at her ease during the whole course of his visit. He rose to go, therefore, earlier than he would otherwise have done, seeing how singularly peaceful he found the home-like atmosphere. The girl, with her sweet eyes and restful manner, the baby with her flower-like face, and her loving ways; the old-world firelit room, the pervading sense of what was child-like, simple, serene--all these soothed the man, racked with suspense and misery. It was with reluctance that he closed the door upon it all, Baba's parting words echoing in his ears, as he ran downstairs, and out into the fog of the December evening-- "I think you are just 'zackly like the prince--my pretty lady's prince--and she's the princess!" Walking briskly up the village street in the direction of the inn, he smiled, as the words spoken in the clear little voice recurred to him again, and the picture of the child and the girl stayed in his mind during the remainder of the evening, whilst he sat in the uncompromisingly dull sitting-room with Wilfred, listening with very fluctuating attention to that young man's chatter, about motoring, sport, and the possibilities of a Frontier campaign. "And what about Baba and her nurse?" the young man ended by saying. "As Baba's uncle, I believe it was really my stern duty to go and look her up." "Ah, well, I happen to be her guardian," Rupert answered drily; "and you were very much occupied with that American and his Daimler, when I went out----" "And has the nurse the bronze hair of the typical adventuress, only tell me that," Staynes answered, stretching out his long legs to the fire. "If she has, I shall feel it imperative to call on Baba to-morrow, before----" "Don't talk rot, my good fellow." Rupert's tones had in them a note of irritation, which his astute cousin was not slow to observe. "Didn't I explain to you that Cicely, with all her tenderness of heart, has too much common sense to give over Baba to the care of any doubtful sort of person? The child's nurse is--just a nice, quiet girl, who looks after her well and keeps her happy." "Great Scott! _A nice, quiet girl_! I think I can safely take her on trust, if you are satisfied that she is--nice--and quiet. The adventuress appealed to me, but nice quiet girls--no, thank you, Rupert! Now if only she had been like that delightful young person with green eyes, who stopped the car the other day--I--should have felt twinges of conscience about my duty as an uncle."