The rest of the party soon went into the grounds, and Rhoda, who was not yet allowed to exert herself much, was left alone in the house. She sat near the window, watching the pretty figures of the ladies in their light dresses as they flitted over the tennis-lawn, like gay butterflies against the background of soft greenery, when she heard a stealthy footstep behind her, and looking round, saw the Terrors, George and Minnie Mallory, crouching close to her chair. “When did you come in?” asked Rhoda quickly. “I didn’t hear you.” The two children chuckled. “Nobody never does hear us,” said Minnie, who was a long-legged, short-frocked imp of six years of age. “We don’t never let ’em hear us,” she added thoughtfully. “But that’s not right. It’s like eavesdropping,” said Rhoda solemnly. George nodded gravely. “It doesn’t matter for us, ’cos we’re only children,” said he with a shrewd air. “And we often hear things that we like to hear. We heard Lady Sarah talking to Jack the other day, and saying how hard it was for her to have to marry a rich man, ’cos rich men are always what you don’t like.” Rhoda uttered a sort of gasp. Then she recovered herself, and scolded the boy. “It’s very naughty to listen,” she said. “And very ungentlemanly too. What would your uncle, who’s always so good and kind to you, say if he thought his niece and nephew were not behaving like a lady and gentleman?” George was not abashed. “I’ll behave like a gentleman when I grow up,” he said reflectively. “I don’t see the good of beginning too soon. It’s nicer to do as we like and hear what we want to.” The comical gravity with which he spoke suddenly made Rhoda want to laugh, so she was silent for a moment, and the children took advantage of this to steal away out of the room, no doubt to follow their favourite dubious occupations elsewhere. But Rhoda did not heed them. She was filled with a terrible thought. Her hero, the man she worshipped as the ideal of all that was noble and worthy, was being deceived, grossly deceived, by the woman he passionately loved. She had no doubt at all that the words reported by the mischievous boy had really been uttered by Lady Sarah, in confidential talk to Jack Rotherfield, between whom and herself it was plain that an active flirtation was still going on. Her heart was torn by the thought that her hero, instead of being loved as he deserved to be loved, was being married for his money alone by the woman he worshipped. If only he could learn the truth before it was too late! But how? She could not tell him what she knew or guessed, and even if she could, he would not believe her. What could she do?