note and laid it one side. "Was it a good lesson?" She
leaned back in her chair, stroking the child's hand softly, while her
eyes travelled over the quaint, dignified little figure. The child was
a Velasquez--people had often remarked it, and the mother had taken the
note that gave to her clothes the regal air touched with simplicity. "So
it was a good lesson, was it?" she repeated, absently, as she stroked
the small dark hand--her own figure graciously outlined as she leaned
back enjoying the lifted face and straight, clear eyes.

"Mother-dear!" The child's voice vibrated with the intensity behind it.
"I have seen a man--a very _good_ man!"

"Yes?" There was a little laugh in the word. She was accustomed to the
child's enthusiasms. Yet they were always new to her--even the old ones
were. "Who was he, daughter--this very good man?"

"He is a Greek, mother--with a long, beautiful name--I don't think I can
tell it to you. But he is most wonderful--!" The child spread her hands
and drew a deep breath.

"More wonderful than father?" It was an idle, laughing question--while
she studied the lifted-up face.

"More wonderful than father--yes--" The child nodded gravely. "I can't
quite tell you, mother-dear, how it feels--" She laid a tiny hand on
her chest. Her eyes were full of thought. "He speaks like music, and he
loves things--oh, very much!"

"I see--And did Madame Lewandowska introduce you to him?"

"Oh, it was not there." The child's face cleared with swift thought. "I
didn't tell you--Madame was ill--"

The reclining figure straightened a little in its place, but the face
was still smiling. "So you and Miss Stone--"

"But Miss Stone is ill, mother-dear. Did you forget her toothache?" The
tone was politely reproachful.

The woman was very erect now--her small eyes, grown wide, gazing at the
child, devouring her. "Betty! Where have you been?" It was more a cry
than a question--a cry of dismay, running swiftly toward terror. It was
the haunting fear of her life that Betty would some day be kidnapped, as
the child next door had been.... The fingers resting on the arm of the
chair were held tense.

"I don't think I did wrong, mother." The child was looking at her very
straight, as if answering a challenge. "You see, I walked home--"

"Where was James?" The woman's tone was sharp, and her hand reached
toward the bell; but the child's hand moved softly toward it.

"I'd like to tell you about it myself, please,