There was an interruption. Rosa Dare's footsteps were heard on the stairs, and they halted at the door. "Mademoiselle!" she called out. Mademoiselle did not answer. Herbert Dare flung his handkerchief over the handle of the door in a manner that hid the key-hole. Rosa Dare tried the door, found it fastened, and went off grumbling. "It's my belief mademoiselle locks herself in there to get a nap after dinner, as mamma does in the dining-room!" She was heard to enter the drawing-room and slam the door. Herbert softly opened that of the school-room, and went down after his sister. "I say, Herbert," cried Rosa, when he entered, "have you seen anything of mademoiselle?" "I!" responded Herbert. "Do you think I keep mademoiselle in my pocket?" "She goes and locks herself up in the school-room after dinner, and I can't think what she does there, or what she can be at," retorted Rosa. "At her devotions, perhaps," suggested Herbert. The words did not please Mrs. Dare, who had then joined the circle. "Herbert, I will not have Mademoiselle Varsini ridiculed," she said quite sternly. "She is a most efficient instructress for Rosa and Minny, and we must be careful not to give her offence, or she might leave." "I'm sure I have heard of foreign women telling their beads till cock-crowing," persisted Herbert. "Those are Roman Catholics. A Protestant, as is Mademoiselle Varsini----" Mrs. Dare's angry words were cut short by the appearance of Mademoiselle Varsini herself. She, the governess, turned to Rosa. "What did you want just now when you came to the school-room door?" "I wanted you here to show me that filet stitch," answered Rosa, slight impertinence peeping out in her tone. "And I don't see why you should not answer when I knock, mademoiselle." "It may not always suit me to answer," was the calm reply of the governess. "My time is my own after dinner; and Madame Dare will agree with me that a governess should hold full control over her school-room." "You are perfectly right, mademoiselle," acquiesced Mrs. Dare. Mademoiselle went to the piano and dashed off a symphony. She was a brilliant player. Herbert, looking at his watch, and finding it later than he thought, hurried from the house. CHAPTER XVIII. A VISION IN HONEY FAIR. The surmise that the missing cheque had been changed into good money on the Saturday night, proved to be correct. White, the butcher at the corner of the shambles, had given change for it, and locked up the cheque in the cash-box. Had he paid it into the bank on Monday, he would have found what it was worth. But he did not do so. Mr. White was a fat man with a good-humoured countenance and black hair. Sergeant Delves proceeded to his house some time on the Tuesday. "I hear you cashed a cheque of the Messrs. Dunn on Saturday night," began he. "Who brought it to you?" "Ah, what about that cheque?" returned the butcher. "One of your men has been in here, asking a lot of questions."