Violet found herself in a new world. What could have come to Gwendoline that she should have quitted her home and gone away among these strange people? And what had she said that this servant-girl should suddenly show the shrew in her? She glanced toward her mother, who, indeed, was as greatly perturbed as herself. The old lady could scarce comprehend that the talk was of her darling Gwendoline. Then Van Hupfeldt, thinking to lead Violet's ideas into a fresh channel, broke in: "I was sure that these things would distress you," he said in the low voice of sympathy. "Perhaps you would prefer to send Sarah to the housekeeper's room while you look at the documents I have brought." Violet, in whose brain a hundred wild questions as to her sister's life were jostling, suddenly faced Jenny again. "What was my sister's baby called?" she asked. "Henry, miss, after its father." "But why 'Henry,' since the father's name was Johann?" "That is a puzzle, miss. I'm only tellin' you what I know." "And what became of the child? Why was it spirited away from its mother? or was it not taken away until after her death?" Jenny had been told to be close as an oyster on this matter. "I don't know why the baby was sent out to nurse, miss," she said. "I can only tell you it was never in the flat." Violet passed a hand across her eyes as though to clear a bewildered brain. This domestic lived in a small flat with her sister, who "gossiped" for "hours" with her, yet the girl knew little about a child which Gwen must have idolized. "Then you never saw the baby?" she asked. "No, miss; that is, once, I think," for Jenny did now venture to look at Van Hupfeldt, and his slight nod came at the instant of her denial. He thought the infant a safe topic, in regard to its appearance, and the mother's love of it. Mrs. Mordaunt, who had been listening intently enough, caught Jenny's hesitation. "It is odd," she said, "that you should have forgotten, or be uncertain of, such a definite fact as seeing my daughter's child." A maid entered with a telegram which she handed to Violet. In a quiet country mansion the advent of a telegram is a rare event. People in rural England regard this curt manner of communication as reserved only for important items. Mrs. Mordaunt was a little alarmed. Her mind quickly reviewed all her relatives' ailments. "What is it, Vi?" she asked anxiously, while Van Hupfeldt wondered if any unoccupied fiend had tempted David Harcourt to interfere at this critical moment. Violet opened the buff envelope and read the message slowly. It was a perfectly marvelous thing that she retained her self-control, for the telegram was from Dibbin at Dundee. Have just concluded sale, after three days' private negotiation here. Your moiety five hundred pounds. Letter follows.