“A mother’s love,” she said. “I bear her _that_.” “I know you do.” He spoke with feeling, for no one admired his photographs of scenery more than Mrs. Milton. “It’s more than she deserves.” “Oh, don’t speak unkindly of her! She has been misled.” It was really very friendly of him. He declared he was only sorry his news ended there. Should he follow them, and bring her back? He had come to her because he knew of her anxiety. “It is _good_ of you,” she said, and quite instinctively took and pressed his hand. “And to think of that poor girl—tonight! It’s dreadful.” She looked into the fire that she had lit when he came in, the warm light fell upon her dark purple dress, and left her features in a warm shadow. She looked such a slight, frail thing to be troubled so. “We must follow her.” Her resolution seemed magnificent. “I have no one to go with me.” “He must marry her,” said the man. “She has no friends. We have no one. After all—Two women.—So helpless.” And this fair-haired little figure was the woman that people who knew her only from her books, called bold, prurient even! Simply because she was great-hearted—intellectual. He was overcome by the unspeakable pathos of her position. “Mrs. Milton,” he said. “Hetty!” She glanced at him. The overflow was imminent. “Not now,” she said, “not now. I must find her first.” “Yes,” he said with intense emotion. (He was one of those big, fat men who feel deeply.) “But let me help you. At least let me help you.” “But can you spare time?” she said. “For _me_.” “For you—” “But what can I do? what can _we_ do?” “Go to Midhurst. Follow her on. Trace her. She was there on Thursday night, last night. She cycled out of the town. Courage!” he said. “We will save her yet!” She put out her hand and pressed his again. “Courage!” he repeated, finding it so well received. There were alarms and excursions without. She turned her back to the fire, and he sat down suddenly in the big armchair, which suited his dimensions admirably. Then the door opened, and the girl showed in Dangle, who looked curiously from one to the other. There was emotion here, he had heard the armchair creaking, and Mrs. Milton, whose face was flushed, displayed a suspicious alacrity to explain. “You, too,” she said, “are one of my good friends. And we have news of her at last.”