“Elizabeth, do you remember how you used to pretend you had all sorts of nice fathers?” The child nodded and smiled. “Well, I’m going to introduce you to a real one.” “A real father?” asked the girl breathlessly. “My father?” “And you’ll never guess who he is.” Suddenly the child was clinging to her, her arms locked about her neck. Thus Peter found them, weeping together. CHAPTER XXIII. AND A MOTHER It was not often that Mrs. Donald Dawlish made a call at any hour of the day. The appearance in Berkeley Square of her big car at eleven o’clock at night was something of an event. “Mrs. Dawlish?” said Jane in wonder, when the footman came to her with the news. She had not seen the woman for two years. Indeed, Mrs. Dawlish’s attitude of late had been frankly antagonistic. “Ask her to come up, please.” The woman strode into the room, patting her mop of untidy white hair into place. She wore the black which suited her better than any more vivid shade, and on her bosom blazed a diamond star which was just a little too large to be altogether ornamental. “I suppose you’re surprised at my coming at this hour?” She dropped her shawl on the settee, and, walking to the fire, held out her hands to the blaze. “I am a little,” said Jane, wondering what was coming next. Nothing short of a catastrophe could have brought Peter’s mother in such circumstances. “I’ve been a good friend of yours, Jane, in the past,” she began, and her look asked for confirmation; but Jane was silent. “There’s trouble, bad trouble, over that will of the old man’s,” she went on. “I’ve had a letter from his lawyer to-night, asking me to give them all sorts of information that I am not prepared to give. The will was proved six weeks ago. They can do nothing now, but they nag and nag and I’m getting tired of it all. They may be acting for Peter, but I doubt it. But Peter can stop this persecution.” It was the first news that Jane Raytham had had of any trouble in connection with the will, but the request was one which she could not pass unchallenged. “I know nothing about the matter,” she said. “Peter of course must do as he wishes. I have no influence there.” “You have a big influence,” said Mrs. Dawlish emphatically. “Peter has found out about the child: I suppose you know that?” Jane nodded. “The man is crazy to find it, and he----” She met the gray eyes and stopped. “I am crazy to find it, too,” said Jane Raytham in a low voice. “Are you?” Mrs. Dawlish was honestly surprised. “I didn’t think you were that kind--to worry about--things. Well, that’s all the better from my point of view. I can give you the child. You can tell Peter that I’ll give you the child and make him a handsome allowance if he will stop his lawyers from worrying me.” “You can give me the child? You know where he is?” Jane’s voice shook. “Well--yes, I do. It wasn’t a boy, Jane.” Jane Raytham shrank back as if she had been struck. “Not a boy? A girl? And you promised me----”