ange her mind.
Naturally the protest had no effect, but Mother's mood mercifully
remained placid, and she didn't give me a single freezing look.

"Mrs. Stuyvesant-Knox is a woman of good family and position in her own
country," she went calmly on. "I have satisfied myself on those points
beyond doubt, or I should not dream of allowing you to be her guest.
She has a cottage at Newport, and will take you there, as summer, it
seems, is not the Season in New York. You may stay with her through
July and August,--even for September, if you are amusing yourself.
Later, Mrs. Stuyvesant-Knox will send you home with friends of hers,
who can be trusted to take good care of you. She knows several people,
she tells me, who are crossing in the autumn, to winter abroad; and
they would bring you to me. Of course, I should have to be nice to
them, by way of showing my appreciation of any trouble you had given;
but a dinner, and a Saturday to Monday at most, would be quite enough."

So it was all arranged, even to the details of my home-coming, and the
price to be paid for returning me, like a parcel, to my owner! Suddenly
I remembered the words I had overheard at the window of the den. "The
question is, what is to be done with Betty?"

Mother had evidently been so anxious to have the question answered,
that she had at once taken measures to settle it. But why should
anything be done with me? Nothing ever had been, so far, except when I
was sent last autumn to stop with my aunt; and she was so much annoyed
because my cousin Loveland came home unexpectedly, that after that I
could do nothing to please her, and was packed back to Battlemead
Towers in disgrace, I never could understand for what crime.

"How did Mrs. Ess--I mean, Mrs. Stuyvesant-Knox happen to ask for a
visit from me?" I ventured to wriggle out, like a worm who isn't sure
whether it had better turn or not. I was certain that for some reason
of her own, Mother had suggested the idea, if only hypnotically; but
she seemed almost too frank as she answered, and it was frightening not
even to be snubbed.

"I told you to-day that she had taken a fancy to you, my dear. Of
course, she could not hope to secure Victoria, even if she preferred
her, for Victoria has important engagements which will carry her
through the season, and afterwards to Cowes and up to Scotland for the
shooting at Dorloch Castle. But you are still almost a child; and
children do not have engagements. Nevert