ome time.

That night she went to a ball, and when she returned home, she persuaded
her mother to go to bed.

"I want to have a talk with father," she exclaimed. "I am going to ask
him something."

She went to the great man's private room, where he sat at work, even
after the hours when less seriously engaged people come home from balls.
The room he sat in was one of the apartments newspapers had with much
detail described. It was luxuriously comfortable, and its effect was
sober and rich and fine.

When Bettina came in, Vanderpoel, looking up to smile at her in welcome,
was struck by the fact that as a background to an entering figure of
tall, splendid girlhood in a ball dress it was admirable, throwing up
all its whiteness and grace and sweep of line. He was always glad to see
Betty. The rich strength of the life radiating from her, the reality and
glow of her were good for him and had the power of detaching him from
work of which he was tired.

She smiled back at him, and, coming forward took her place in a
big armchair close to him, her lace-frilled cloak slipping from
her shoulders with a soft rustling sound which seemed to convey her
intention to stay.

"Are you too busy to be interrupted?" she asked, her mellow voice
caressing him. "I want to talk to you about something I am going to do."
She put out her hand and laid it on his with a clinging firmness which
meant strong feeling. "At least, I am going to do it if you will help
me," she ended.

"What is it, Betty?" he inquired, his usual interest in her accentuated
by her manner.

She laid her other hand on his and he clasped both with his own.

"When the Worthingtons sail for England next month," she explained, "I
want to go with them. Mrs. Worthington is very kind and will be good
enough to take care of me until I reach London."

Mr. Vanderpoel moved slightly in his chair. Then their eyes met
comprehendingly. He saw what hers held.

"From there you are going to Stornham Court!" he exclaimed.

"To see Rosy," she answered, leaning a little forward. "To SEE her.

"You believe that what has happened has not been her fault?" he said.
There was a look in her face which warmed his blood.

"I have always been sure that Nigel Anstruthers arranged it."

"Do you think he has been unkind to her?"

"I am going to see," she answered.

"Betty," he said, "tell me all about it."

He knew that this was no suddenly-formed plan, and he knew it would
be well