At the end of the hour Miss Lasarge realized that the chief hold she had was in the fact that the Countess was afraid of Sir Marmaduke--of anyone in power, perhaps. It was a weapon Miss Anne could not bear to use, but she had to protect her beloved children at the Bell House. "Well," she said, "then I’ll say good night, and you will be wiser, my child, if you do as Sir Marmaduke wishes. You are making a mistake in acting as you do. I am obliged to say that I shall tell him if it does not cease." The Countess looked down at the little grey person who presumed to interfere with her amusement. It did not occur to her that she could not shield herself behind a lie. It would be quite easy to tell Sir Marmaduke that the girl who ran about in the evenings was Pamela Romilly. He would believe her, of course. She recalled with satisfaction that Miss Ashington was sure she had been visited by Pamela. There was nothing--nothing to prove in any single instance that it had not been Pamela Romilly. Mrs. Chipman would be silent for her own sake. As the little grey lady stood watching her face she read the thought. Perhaps the Countess did not try to conceal it; perhaps she was not so well practised in deceit as to hide it all--after all, fourteen years is not a long time. In either case Miss Anne saw it quite plainly, and she said: "You might deny all sorts of things, but you would have to explain to Sir Marmaduke how you came to leave your handkerchief on his yacht--on Tuesday night. It is a thing that cannot be denied." The girl stiffened, and stood rigidly still. Then she said suddenly. "It is a lie--you invent it to frighten me." "No," answered Miss Anne, looking at her with the clear grey gaze that seemed the essence of truth, "it is quite true. My dear child, you know it is true. There is your initial, and the little coronet--quite unmistakable. Now good night again--be wise, and be good, and you will be happy too. I tell you frankly that _I_ have your handkerchief, but I shall not use any evidence against you unless you make me." Seldom in her life had the grey lady felt so much pain as when she left the Countess standing in the Woodrising drawing-room with that expression of fear and anger together on her pretty face. Miss Anne had been used to girls as friends always, and had started by treating this girl in the same way as others. The Countess on her part started by pretending friendliness, and cheated! That was the difficulty--kindness, in her eyes, was weakness. Miss Lasarge went home, and on the way made up her mind to write to Sir Marmaduke if there was any further trouble, but she did not wish to bother him needlessly, because she knew he was very busy at work on a Government Commission. Also, it did seem rather absurd that several women could not keep one girl of fourteen within bounds.