"You can't do anything. I'll do everything. You say she knows Temple. Well, I'll find him, and we'll go to her lodgings and find out if she's there. You don't know the address?" "No," said Betty. "I went there, but it was at night and I don't even know the street." "Now look here." He took both her hands and held them firmly. "You aren't to worry. I'll do everything. Perhaps she has been taken ill. In that case, when we find her, she'll need you to look after her. You must rest. I'm certain to find her. You must eat something. I'll send you in some dinner. And then lie down." "I couldn't sleep," said Betty, looking at him with the eyes of a child that has cried its heart out. "Of course you couldn't. Lie down, and make yourself read. I'll get back as soon as I can. Good-bye." There was something further that wanted to get itself said, but the words that came nearest to expressing it were "God bless you,"--and he did not say them. On the top of his staircase he found Temple lounging. "Hullo--still here? I'm afraid I've been a devil of a time gone, but Miss Desmond's--" "I don't want to shove my oar in," said Temple, "but I came back when I'd seen Lady St. Craye home. I hope there's nothing wrong with Miss Desmond." "Come in," said Vernon. "I'll tell you the whole thing." They went into the room desolate with the disorder of half empty cups and scattered plates with crumbs of cake on them. "Miss Desmond told me about her meeting you. Well, she gave you the slip; she went back and got that woman--Lottie what's her name--and took her to live with her." "Good God! She didn't know, of course?" "But she did know--that's the knock-down blow. She knew, and she wanted to save her." Temple was silent a moment. "I say, you know, though--that's rather fine," he said presently. "Oh, yes," said Vernon impatiently, "it's very romantic and all that. Well, the woman stayed a fortnight and disappeared to-day. Miss Desmond is breaking her heart about her." "So she took her up, and--she's rather young for rescue work." "Rescue work? Bah! She talks of the woman as the only girl friend she's ever had. And the woman's probably gone off with her watch and chain and a collection of light valuables. Only I couldn't tell Miss Desmond that. So I promised to try and find the woman. She's a thorough bad lot. I've run up against her once or twice with chaps I know." "She's not _that_ sort," said Temple. "I know her fairly well." "What--Sir Galahad? Oh, I won't ask inconvenient questions." Vernon's sneer was not pretty. "She used to live with de Villermay," said Temple steadily; "he was the first--the usual coffee maker business, you know, though God knows how an English girl got into it. When he went home to be married--It was rather beastly. The father came up--offered her a present. She threw it at him. Then Schauermacher wanted her to live with him. No. She'd go to the devil her own way. And she's gone." "Can't something be done?" said Vernon.