I went indoors and wrote a note for my mother. Then I escaped to the garden. I will go down in the orchard, I said to myself, and wait by the gap for a glimpse of Eric playing the short round. Along the south wall I went towards the landmark of the big apple-tree, a yard or so this side of the gap. As I passed the ripening wall-fruit, netted to protect it from the birds, I remembered my mother had said the formal espaliers wore the air of a jealously-guarded beauty smiling behind her veil. The old tree by the gap was like some peasant "Mother of Many," she said, rude and generous, bearing on her gnarled arms a bushel to one of the more delicate fruits on the wall. All the way down to the end of the orchard I had glimpses through the lesser trees of old "Mother of Many," brave and smiling, holding out clusters of red-cheeked apples to the last rays of the sun. I started, and stood as still as the apple-tree. Under the low branches two figures. My sister's raised face. The other bending down. He kissed her--Eddie Monmouth. I turned and fled back to the house. The kiss might have been on my lips, so effectually it wakened me out of my dreaming. Bettina!--old enough to be kissed by a man! So she was the first to be engaged ... my little sister, who had only just had her sixteenth birthday. * * * * * I tried that night to lead up to a confidence. But I had neglected Bettina too long, apparently, for her to want to tell me her great secret just at first. So I waited. Then a dreadful day when Hermione came over to say that she was going up to London for Eddie Monmouth's wedding. Yes, most unexpected. All in hot haste, just before his sailing for India. The bride a girl they had never heard of. I dared not look at Betty for some minutes. When at last I mustered up courage to steal a glance--not a cloud on Betty's face. Here was courage! But what the poor child must be going through.--I could not leave her to bear this awful thing alone.... When Hermione had gone I told Bettina that I knew. She looked at me out of her innocent eyes, and reddened just a little. Then she laughed: "Oh, I don't mind _like that_!" she said. "He was very nice. But I think I prefer Ranny Dallas." At first I was sure this was just a brave attempt to bear her suffering alone. But I was wrong. Bettina _did_ like Ranny Dallas best! He liked Bettina, and flirted with her. I began to see that I had not been looking after Bettina properly. * * * * * But I saw more than that.