"Very fairly good," said Mrs. Busby, turning her eyes now upon the young man, whom for the last few minutes they had avoided. "I did not know you were so much interested in Rotha, Mr. Southwode." "She was my charge, you are aware. Her mother left her to my care." "Until she was placed in mine," said Mrs. Busby with dignity. "I hope you believe that I am able to take good care of her?" "I should be very sorry to doubt that, and no one who knows Mrs. Busby could question it for a moment. But a charge is a charge, you know. To resign it or delegate it is not optional. I regard myself as Rotha's guardian always, and it was as her guardian that I entrusted her to you." Mrs. Busby did not answer this, and did not change a muscle in face or figure. "And so," Mr. Southwode went on, smiling,--he was amused, and he appreciated Mrs. Busby,--"it is as her guardian that I am asking an account of her now." "I have given it," said Mrs. Busby; and she moved her lips as if they were dry, which however her utterance was not. It was pleasant. "The young ladies can hardly be expected home early, I suppose?" said Mr. Southwode, looking at his watch. "Hardly"--returned Mrs. Busby in the same way. "When can I see Rotha to-morrow?" "To-morrow," said Mrs. Busby, speaking leisurely, "you will hardly see her. She is not at home. I said that before, but you understood me to speak of the evening merely." "Where is she then? I can go to her." "No, you cannot," said Mrs. Busby half smiling, but it was not a smile Mr. Southwode liked. "She is at a friend's house in the country." "Not in New York! How long do you expect her to be absent?" "That I cannot possibly tell. It depends on circumstances that I do not know." Mr. Southwode pondered. "Will you favour me with her address?" he asked, taking out his notebook. "It is not worth the while," said the lady quietly. "She is at a considerable distance from New York, too far for you to go to her; and she may be home any day. It depends, as I said, on what I do not now know." "And may be delayed yet for some time, then?" "Possibly." "Will you give me her address, Mrs. Busby." Mr. Southwode's pencil was ready, but instead of giving him something to do with it, Mrs. Busby rang the bell. Pencil and notebook waited. "Lesbia, go up to my dressing room and bring me a little green book with a clasp lying on my table there." A few minutes of silence and waiting; then Lesbia returned with the announcement, "There aint no sort o' little book there, Mis' Busby. There's a heap o' big ones, but they aint green." "Go again and look in the left hand drawer." Lesbia came again. "Aint nothin' there but papers." "That will do. Mr. Southwode, I have not my address book, and without that I cannot give you what you want. The name of the post-office town is very peculiar, and I always forget it. But I can write to Rotha to-morrow and summon her, if you think it necessary."