aning of
her companion's answer to her last question. He had forgotten that Angel
was Angel! Though she was warmly wrapped in a soft rug of silvery fur, a
chill crept into her heart. Could it be that Nurse's words about father
had been true, after all; and if they were, was she doing harm, rather
than good, in bringing him home?

Presently Hugh waked out of his own thoughts, and noticed the little
girl's silence.

"You're not afraid?" he asked, blissfully unconscious of offence. "I'm
not driving too fast to please you?"

"Oh no," said Rosemary.

"You're not cold?"

"No, thank you."

"Nor tired?"

"No, not tired."

"But something is the matter?"

"I'm worrying," confessed the child.

"What about, little one?"

"I'm not sure if I ought to have spoken to you, or have come with you,
after all."

To save his life, Hugh could not have helped laughing, though it was
evidently a matter of serious importance. "What, do you think we ought
to have a chaperon?" he asked. "Paul's in the tonneau, you know; and
he's a most discreet chap."

"I don't know what a chaperon is," said Rosemary. "But will you promise
not to be angry if I ask you something, and will you promise to answer,
honour bright?"

"Yes, to both your questions."

"Were you really unkind to Angel, before you were lost?"

This was a hard nut to crack, if his past were not to be ruthlessly
severed from Angel's by a word. He thought for a moment, and then said,
"Honour bright, I can't remember anything unkind I ever did to her."

"Oh, I'm so glad. I was afraid, when you said you'd forgotten--but maybe
her name wasn't Angel, then?"

"That was it, I'm sure," replied Hugh, soothingly. "Maybe you named her
Angel, yourself?"

"I don't know," said Rosemary. "She seems to have been it, always, ever
since I can remember. And she does look just like one, you know, she's
so beautiful."

"I expect you remember a lot more about angels than I do, because it
isn't so long since you came from where they live. But here we are in
the woods at Cap Martin. Have you ever been here before?"

"Angel and I had a picnic here once, all by ourselves; and there were
lots of sheep under the olive trees, and a funny old shepherd who made
music to them. Oh, I do love picnics, don't you? Angel said, if she were
rich, she'd take me on the loveliest kind of a picnic for Christmas;
but, you see, it would cost too much money to do it, for we've hardly
got any, especially since