Yet Frances knew that they had not sent Veronica to Dresden to prevent her mother from getting hold of her. When she remembered the fear she had had of the apple-tree house, she said to herself that Desmond was a judgment on her for sending little Veronica away. And yet it was the kindest thing they could have done for her. Veronica was happy in Dresden, living with a German family and studying music and the language. She had no idea that music and the language were mere blinds, and that she had been sent to the German family to keep her out of Nicky's way. They would have them all back again at Christmas. Frances counted the days. From to-night, the seventh of June, to December the twentieth was not much more than six months. To-night, the seventh of June, was Nicky's wedding-night. But they did not know that. Nicky had kept the knowledge from them, in his mercy, to save them the agony of deciding whether they would recognize the marriage or not. And as neither Frances nor Anthony had ever faced squarely the prospect of disaster to their children, they had turned their backs on Nicky's marriage and supported each other in the hope that at the last minute something would happen to prevent it. * * * * * The ten o'clock post, and two letters from Germany. Not from Michael, not from Veronica. One from Frau Schäfer, the mother of the German family. It was all in German, and neither Anthony nor Frances could make out more than a word here and there. "Das süsse, liebe Mädchen" meant Veronica. But certain phrases: "traurige Nachrichten" ... "furchtbare Schwächheit" ... "... eine entsetzliche Blutleere ..." terrified them, and they sent for Dorothy to translate. Dorothy was a good German scholar, but somehow she was not very fluent. She scowled over the letter. "What does it mean?" said Frances. "Hæmorhage?" "No. No. Anæmia. Severe anæmia. Heart and stomach trouble." "But 'traurige Nachrichten' is 'bad news.' They're breaking it to us that she's dying." (It was unbearable to think of Nicky marrying Ronny; but it was more unbearable to think of Ronny dying.) "They don't say they're sending _us_ bad news; they say they think Ronny must have had some. To account for her illness. Because they say she's been so happy with them." "But what bad news could she have had?" "Perhaps she knows about Nicky." "But nobody's told her, unless Vera has." "She hasn't. I know she hasn't. She didn't want her to know." "Well, then--" "Mummy, you don't _have_ to tell Ronny things. She always knows them." "How on earth could she know a thing like that?" "She might. She sort of sees things--like Ferdie. She may have seen him with Desmond. You can't tell." "Do they say what the doctor thinks?" "Yes. He thinks it's worry and Heimweh--homesickness. They want us to send for her and take her back. Not let her have another term."