He was almost startled by the transformation which passed over the girl's face as he spoke the last few words. The colour rushed into the cheeks, the lips trembled, and the beautiful eyes gazed meltingly into his. Lettice put up her arm and flung it impetuously round his neck. "Do you love me, father? Do you really love me?" "Love you! My precious child! I love every one of you--dearly--dearly! But you--" Mr Bertrand's voice broke off with an uncontrollable tremble--"you know there are special reasons why you are dear to me, Lettice. When I look at you I seem to see your mother again as I met her first. Why do you ask such a question? You surely know that I love you, without being told?" "But I like being told," said Lettice plaintively. "I like people to say nice things, and to be loving and demonstrative. Hilary laughs at me if I am affectionate, and the boys tease. Sometimes I feel so lonely!" Mr Bertrand drew his breath in a short, stabbing sigh. He was realising more keenly every day how difficult it was to bring up young girls without a mother's tender care. Hilary, with the strain of hardness and self-seeking which would ruin her disposition unless it were checked in time; beautiful Lettice, longing for love and admiration, and so fatally susceptible to a few flattering words; Norah, with her exceptional talents, and daring, fearless spirit--how was he to manage them all during the most critical years of their lives? "I must speak to Helen Carr. Helen Carr will help me," he said to himself, and sighed with relief at the thought of sharing his burden with the kind- hearted friend of his youth. It was nearly six o'clock when the travellers drove up to the door of the white house in Kensington, and Miss Carr came into the hall to meet them, looking far less altered by the lapse of years than did her young visitor, who had developed from a delicate schoolgirl into a self- possessed young lady of seventeen.