“I used to guess you thought of her in a way of your own,” Vanderpoel said, “but I did not guess you were thinking that much. You were always a solid, loyal little thing, and there was business capacity in your keeping your scheme to yourself. Let us look the matter in the face. Suppose she does not need rescuing. Suppose, after all, she is a comfortable, fine lady and adores her husband. What then?” “If I should find that to be true, I will behave myself very well--as if we had expected nothing else. I will make her a short visit and come away. Lady Cecilia Orme, whom I knew in Florence, has asked me to stay with her in London. I will go to her. She is a charming woman. But I must first see Rosy--SEE her.” Mr. Vanderpoel thought the matter over during a few moments of silence. “You do not wish your mother to go with you?” he said presently. “I believe it will be better that she should not,” she answered. “If there are difficulties or disappointments she would be too unhappy.” “Yes,” he said slowly, “and she could not control her feelings. She would give the whole thing away, poor girl.” He had been looking at the carpet reflectively, and now he looked at Bettina. “What are you expecting to find, at the worst?” he asked her. “The kind of thing which will need management while it is being looked into?” “I do not know what I am expecting to find,” was her reply. “We know absolutely nothing; but that Rosy was fond of us, and that her marriage has seemed to make her cease to care. She was not like that; she was not like that! Was she, father?” “No, she wasn't,” he exclaimed. The memory of her in her short-frocked and early girlish days, a pretty, smiling, effusive thing, given to lavish caresses and affectionate little surprises for them all, came back to him vividly. “She was the most affectionate girl I ever knew,” he said. “She was more affectionate than you, Betty,” with a smile. Bettina smiled in return and bent her head to put a kiss on his hand, a warm, lovely, comprehending kiss. “If she had been different I should not have thought so much of the change,” she said. “I believe that people are always more or less LIKE themselves as long as they live. What has seemed to happen has been so unlike Rosy that there must be some reason for it.” “You think that she has been prevented from seeing us?” “I think it so possible that I am not going to announce my visit beforehand.” “You have a good head, Betty,” her father said. “If Sir Nigel has put obstacles in our way before, he will do it again. I shall try to find out, when I reach London, if Rosalie is at Stornham. When I am sure she is there, I shall go and present myself. If Sir Nigel meets me at the park gates and orders his gamekeepers to drive me off the premises, we shall at least know that he has some reason for not wishing to regard the usual social and domestic amenities. I feel rather like a detective. It entertains me and excites me a little.”