"But, Mummie darling, Gipsy doesn't want to be caught and brought back to Poppie's tender mercies. She's going to ship as a stewardess, and go to South Africa to look for her father. I think it's ripping!" "You don't know what you're talking about, Meg. Gipsy is too young to manage her own affairs without consulting her elders. I would have had the poor child here, rather than that she should run away. Tell me everything you can remember of her plans. I expect Father will start for Liverpool at once in search of her." "You won't tell Poppie, Motherkins?" "I shall send a note to Miss Poppleton as soon as I have telephoned to Father. We must leave no stone unturned to find Gipsy. Miss Poppleton will be as alarmed and anxious as I am myself. She may be a little stern, but she is a good, conscientious person in the main." Mrs. Gordon's estimate of Miss Poppleton's character was a correct one. The latter, though she had been severe and even hard with Gipsy, had meant well by her, and had intended to take charge of her until she found an opportunity of sending her, under careful protection, to her relations in New Zealand. She was in a state of the utmost concern at the girl's rash action in running away, and had lost no time in summoning the aid of the police to track her and ensure her safety. If Gipsy were the black sheep of the flock, she was at any rate the lost sheep, to be sought for diligently, and rejoiced over when found. To Miss Edith the affair was a sad blow. She was genuinely fond of Gipsy, and had been greatly distressed by the events of the last few days. Though she dutifully accepted her sister's opinion, and believed Gipsy guilty, she nevertheless was ready to welcome back the prodigal with open arms. She did not dare to break down before Miss Poppleton, who disliked a public exhibition of feeling, so she retired to the linen room to wipe her eyes in private. Having indulged in a little surreptitious weeping she felt better, and decided to try to distract her mind by tidying her cupboards. Now, though Miss Edith was on the whole a good housekeeper, she had a poor memory, and was very apt to put things away and forget all about them. As she rearranged her drawers and shelves on this particular evening, she was dismayed to find several articles for which she had searched in vain elsewhere. "Why, here's the tea cloth that I thought had been lost in the wash!" she exclaimed. "And Miss Lindsay's dressing jacket--she was afraid she must have left it in London. Why! and here's a coat of Daisy Scatcherd's. I remember quite plainly putting it by last autumn, when she had such a terrible cold. I thought it was too thin for her to wear. Why didn't the child ask me for it? She's as forgetful as I am. It's just the thing for chilly evenings, to slip on when she's been playing tennis." Miss Edith gave the coat a good shake, and as she did so there fell from the pocket an unopened letter. She picked it up and looked at the address: