She made this statement calmly, in a high, clear voice, not without a rather cleverly devised intention of being heard and applauded by the people present, including the police. She was old enough to know that her share and that of the singing girl Cora, having been entirely passive and showy, rather than actively useful in the swindling practices carried on by their male confederates, the punishment in store for them could not be on the same plane as that earned by the men themselves. And as for Mrs. Van Santen, why, she was old enough and experienced enough to look out for herself. But this sudden change in the attitude of her adopted family seemed for a time to disconcert the old woman, who stared from Delia to Cora and back again with an air of uncertainty as to what course she should pursue in the circumstances. Before long, however, she recovered herself, and, turning to the policeman who walked beside her and who appeared more vigilant than those who were looking after the younger women, she said, in a hard voice-- “Well, you’ve got to prove that there’s anything wrong in adopting and providing for three or four young creatures who are not your own children by birth; and that’s the worst thing you can accuse me of, anyhow.” “Nobody has accused you of anything, ma’am,” said one of the officers. “And you’d best not say anything more, else it may be used against you presently.” But Mrs. Van Santen, alias Catherine Burge, laughed in his face. “You needn’t tell me that,” she said. “I’ve had some dealings with your sort before, as some of you know. I don’t deny it. But that has nothing to do with my conduct now, and I tell you there’s nothing to be proved against me but too large a heart.” “Well, ma’am, you confine yourself to proving that when you’re before the magistrates, and you won’t come to much harm if you succeed.” But in spite of the purity of her intentions, the old lady did not look quite satisfied on this point. And Gerard Buckland, when he came out of the card-room a minute later in search of Miss Davison, saw that his gentle old New Englander had been transformed into a hard-featured virago who glared at him with a suspicious eye. The sight of him roused the savage slumbering in her breast. She even made a half attempt to rush towards him, but a movement on the part of the nearest policeman made her pause. “I know who you’re looking for, Mr. Gerard Buckland,” she said. “And I wish I knew myself where to find her. She’d not leave this house with her demure face unscratched if I could!” Gerard, who had begun to make a shrewd guess as to the reason of Miss Davison’s disappearance, knew better than to attempt to dispute with the angry woman. He looked at Arthur Aldington, with a questioning upraising of the eyebrows, which the other rightly understood to be an invitation to accompany him on his departure.