Of course!--The whole thing became plain to me! This would account for everything. I hobbled up and got down the peerage. I turned to the Hartelford title, and noted the brothers--the Hon'bles--John Sinclair, Charles Henry, and Robert Edgar. This last must be "Bobby" Then I read the usual things--"Educated at Eton and Christchurch, etc., etc." "Left the Guards in 1893." "Married in 1894--Lady Hilda Farwell, only daughter of the Marquess of Braxted (title extinct) and divorced wife of William Marchant, Esquire." "Issue--" "Alathea--born 1894, John Robert born 1905, and Hilda born 1907." So the whole tragic story seemed to unfold itself before me. Alathea is the child of that great love and sacrifice of her Mother--I read again the words George had used: "She adored the fellow who had every charm." All the world might cast him out, but that one faithful woman gave up home and name and honour, to follow him in his disgrace. That was love indeed, however misplaced! I looked again at the dates and made a calculation of the time divorces took then, and I saw that my little darling girl could only have escaped illegitimacy by perhaps a few hours! What had her life been? I pictured it. They must have hidden diminished heads in hole and corner places during the dreary years. Such a man as Bobby Bulteel must have been, as George said, a weakling. The Hartlefords were poor as church mice, and were not likely to assist a scapegrace, who had dishonoured them. I remembered hearing that on the old Lord Braxted's death years ago, Braxted was sold to the Merrion-Walters, Ironfounders from Leeds. No doubt the old man had cut his daughter off without the traditional shilling, but even so, some hundreds a year must have been theirs. What then did the poverty of Alathea suggest? That some constant drain must be going on all the time. Could the scapegrace still be a gambler, and that could account for it? This seemed the most probable explanation. Then all over me there rushed a mad worship for my little love. Her splendid unselfishness, her noble self-sacrifice, her dignity, her serenity. I could have kissed the ground under her feet. I made Burton spend untold time telephoning to the Embassy, and then to Versailles to Colonel Harcourt--would he not dine with me? He was sorry he was engaged but he would lunch the next day. Then when the long evening was in front of me alone--I could hardly bear it. And, driven to desperation at last, when Burton was undressing me, I said to him: "Did you ever know anything of the Hartlefords, Burton--Bulteel is the family name?" "Can't say as I did personally, Sir Nicholas," he answered, "but of course, when I was a young boy taking my first fourth-footman's place, before I came to your father, Sir Guy, at Her Grace of Wiltshire's, I could not help hearing of the scandal about the cheating at cards. The whole nobility and gentry was put to about it, and nothing else was talked of at dinner."