not having contemplated it before, she
found herself wishing that the coachman would drive rather more slowly,
actually that she might have more time to reflect.

They were nearing a dip in the park, where there was a lonely looking
pool. The bracken was thick and high there, and the sun, which had just
broken through a cloud, had pierced the trees with a golden gleam.

A little withdrawn from this shaft of brightness stood two figures, a
dowdy little woman and a hunchbacked boy. The woman held some ferns
in her hand, and the boy was sitting down and resting his chin on his
hands, which were folded on the top of a stick.

"Stop here for a moment," Bettina said to the coachman. "I want to ask
that woman a question."

She had thought that she might discover if her sister was at the Court.
She realised that to know would be a point of advantage. She leaned
forward and spoke.

"I beg your pardon," she said, "I wonder if you can tell me----"

The woman came forward a little. She had a listless step and a faded,
listless face.

"What did you ask?" she said.

Betty leaned still further forward.

"Can you tell me----" she began and stopped. A sense of stricture in
the throat stopped her, as her eyes took in the washed-out colour of
the thin face, the washed-out colour of the thin hair--thin drab hair,
dragged in straight, hard unbecomingness from the forehead and cheeks.

Was it true that her heart was thumping, as she had heard it said that
agitation made hearts thump?

She began again.

"Can you--tell me if--Lady Anstruthers is at home?" she inquired. As she
said it she felt the blood surge up from the furious heart, and the
hand she had laid on the handle of the door of the brougham clutched it
involuntarily.

The dowdy little woman answered her indifferently, staring at her a
little.

"I am Lady Anstruthers," she said.

Bettina opened the carriage door and stood upon the ground.

"Go on to the house," she gave order to the coachman, and, with a
somewhat startled look, he drove away.

"Rosy!" Bettina's voice was a hushed, almost awed, thing. "YOU are
Rosy?"

The faded little wreck of a creature began to look frightened.

"Rosy!" she repeated, with a small, wry, painful smile.

She was the next moment held in the folding of strong, young arms,
against a quickly beating heart. She was being wildly kissed, and the
very air seemed rich with warmth and life.

"I am Betty," she heard. "Look at me, Rosy