He handed her the _Telegraph_. Yesterday's advertisement was repeated in it--with this addition: May be in company with tall, fair young man. Blue eyes, military appearance. Possesses large, white bull-terrier. "Oh dear! They'll track us down," she said, and laughed. "What sleuth-hounds they are! But they can't do anything to me, can they? They can't take me back, I mean. I'm twenty-one, you know. Can't you do as you like when you're twenty-one?" She looked at the paper again, and now her face suddenly became clouded and her eyes filled with tears. "I never thought of that." She hesitated a moment and handed him the paper, pointing to the place with the finger that had found Warwick and Kenilworth. Below the advertisement touching the young man and the bull-terrier, he read: SILVER LOCKS--Come back. I am ill and very anxious. AUNT ALICE. "That means. . . ?" "It means me. I'm Silver Locks--it's her pet name for me. I called my aunts the three bears once, when I was little, in fun, you know. And the others were angry--but _she_ laughed and called me Silver Locks. And she's called it me ever since. I never thought about her worrying. What am I to do? I must go back. I thought it was too good to last, yesterday," she added, bitterly. He put the admission away in a safe place, whence later he could take it out and caress it, and said, "Of course you must go back if you want to. But don't do it without thinking. We meant to talk over our plans yesterday, but somehow we didn't. Let's do it to-day." "But I can't go to Warwick. I must go back to her--I must." "If you do," he said, "you won't go back to just her--you'll go back to the whole miserable muddle you've got away from. You'll go back to your other aunts and to your father. Besides, how do you know who put that advertisement in? Think carefully. Is the advertisement like her?" "It's like her to be anxious and kind," said she. "I mean, is she the sort of woman to advertise that she's ill? To advertise your pet name--and her own name--so that every one who knows you both and sees the advertisement will know that you are being advertised for? Is that like her?" He ended, astonished at his own penetration. "No," she said, slowly, "it isn't. And it isn't like her to say she's ill. She never complains." "She wouldn't use her illness as a lever to move events to her liking?" "Never!" she said, almost indignantly. "Then I think that this advertisement is some one else's. Where does she live." "Hyde Park Square." "Let us telegraph her, and not go to Warwick." They stopped the taxi and composed a message. He despatched it. Did you put advertisement in paper to-day? And are you ill? I am quite well and will write at once. Wire reply to Silver Locks, General Post-Office. Then they told the man to drive around Regent's Park, to pass the time till there should be an answer.