Madame Midas was very much grieved at the news of Kitty’s Escapade, particularly as she could not see what motive she had for running away, and, moreover, trembled to think of the temptations the innocent girl would be exposed to in the metropolis. After tea, when Archie had gone outside to smoke his pipe, and Selina was busy in the kitchen washing the dishes, she spoke to Vandeloup on the subject. The young Frenchman was seated at the piano in the darkness, striking a few random chords, while Madame was by the fire in the arm-chair. It was quite dark, with only the rosy glow of the fire shining through the room. Mrs Villiers felt uneasy; was it likely that Vandeloup could have any connection with Kitty’s disappearance? Impossible! he had given her his word of honour, and yet--it was very strange. Mrs Villiers was not, by any means, a timid woman, so she determined to ask Gaston right out, and get a decided answer from him, so as to set her mind at rest. ‘M. Vandeloup,’ she said, in her clear voice, ‘will you kindly come here a moment? ‘Certainly, Madame,’ said Gaston, rising with alacrity from the piano, and coming to the fireside; ‘is there anything I can do?’ ‘You have heard of Miss Marchurst’s disappearance?’ she asked, looking up at him. Vandeloup leaned his elbow on the mantelpiece, and looked down into the fire, so that the full blaze of it could strike his face. He knew Madame Midas prided herself on being a reader of character, and knowing he could command his features admirably, he thought it would be politic to let her see his face, and satisfy herself as to his innocence. ‘Yes, Madame,’ he answered, in his calm, even tones, looking down inquiringly at the statuesque face of the woman addressing him; ‘Monsieur,’ nodding towards the door, ‘told me, but I did not think it true.’ ‘I’m afraid it is,’ sighed Madame, shaking her head. ‘She is going on the stage, and her father will never forgive her.’ ‘Surely, Madame--’ began Vandeloup, eagerly. ‘No,’ she replied, decisively, ‘he is not a hard man, but his way of looking at things through his peculiar religious ideas has warped his judgment--he will make no attempt to save her, and God knows what she will come to.’ ‘There are good women on the stage,’ said Vandeloup, at a loss for a reply. ‘Certainly,’ returned Madame, calmly, ‘there are black and white sheep in every flock, but Kitty is so young and inexperienced, that she may become the prey of the first handsome scoundrel she meets.’ Madame had intuitively guessed the whole situation, and Vandeloup could not help admiring her cleverness. Still his face remained the same, and his voice was as steady as ever as he answered-- ‘It is much to be regretted; but still we must hope for the best.’ Was he guilty? Madame could not make up her mind, so determined to speak boldly. ‘Do you remember that day I introduced her to you?’ Vandeloup bowed.