“Her appearance, I suppose you mean? Cara does you credit, a fine girl, who will develop into a fine woman. She has your colouring, with her aunt’s physique.” “Oh, no, no--how can you say so!” “You have done your utmost; the child is well nourished, well dressed, well drilled, and has been given a good conceit of herself--anyone can see that _she_ has walked on the sunny side of the road!” “I have done my best, Cousin Maude.” “That is evident; and now, my dear, I have a question to ask you.” “Yes?” “Was it worth it? Come, Letty, give me a straight answer.” “What do you mean?” “I mean running off with the child, forfeiting your income, your country, your friends--yes--and your lover--all to come out here, have Cara to yourself, and work hard for her support.” She paused for a moment. Then, as Letty was preparing to answer, resumed: “Is she your real treasure? Does she adore her mother? In short, Letty, is this girl your _compensation_?” Here was a direct, startling, and unexpected question. For a moment Letty hesitated; as in a flash, memory brought to her, Cara’s tempers, her tyranny of Les Plans, her iron will, her secrecy--but oh, what cruel, cruel, disloyal thoughts! How could a _mother_ harbour them? Looking up straight into her confessor’s eyes, she replied: “I have no regrets, and I would do it again!” “Ah--would you!” the tone was dubious. “Lately it has seemed to me, my dear, that your letters were terribly depressed--that is to say, reading between the lines.” “Well, of course, sometimes one is lonely, and longs to do things, and to see people.” “If you had only played your cards properly, Blagdon would have made the girl over to you--and with a respectable allowance. He did not know what to do with her; Lady Rashleigh couldn’t endure her, and his mother is too infirm to undertake a lively grandchild.” “I don’t agree with you. If Hugo thought I wanted Cara, he would have kept her, for that very reason.” “I hear he has gone in more than ever for racing, with Sir Tom as his guide, and has burnt his fingers rather badly. It is said he wishes to marry again, an heiress or a rich widow; meanwhile Connie Rashleigh lives with him most of the year.” “And Mrs. Corbett?” “No--as soon as she heard that her husband had made a huge fortune in the Argentine, she patched up a truce, and went out to spend it.” “And the Dentons--how are they?” “Much as usual--getting a little older and greyer, By the way, do you ever hear from Lancelot?” “No,” colouring; “of course not--never.” “He is rising rapidly in his profession----” She paused. No need to tell Letty that he was at present on leave in England. “Frances, as you know, is still Miss Lumley. How is it, that all the minxes get snapped up, and the treasures are left?” To this question, her companion made no reply. Had not she herself, been, so to speak, ‘snapped up’? * * * * *