"Rubbish!" I exclaimed cheerfully. "Sheer and unadulterated rubbish! We are not rich, Isobel, but the trifle the care of you will cost us amounts to nothing at all. We are willing and able to take charge of you as well as we can. You know that!"

Ah! She drew a long sigh of relief. It was wonderful how her face changed.

"But why is Lady Delahaye so cruel--why is she so anxious that I should not stay with you?" she said.

I laughed.

"Lady Delahaye is mysterious," I answered. "I have come to the conclusion, Isobel, that you must be a princess in disguise, and that Lady Delahaye wants to claim all the rewards for having taken charge of you!"

"Don't be silly!" she laughed. "Princesses are not brought up at Madame Richard's, without relations or friends to visit them, and no pocket money."

"Nevertheless," I answered, "when I consider the number of people who are interested in you, and Lady Delahaye's extraordinary persistence, I am inclined to stick to my theory. We shall look upon you, Isobel, as an investment, and some day you shall reward us all."

Her hand slipped into mine. Her eyes were soft enough now.

"Dear friend," she murmured, "I think that it is my heart only which will reward you--my great, great grat.i.tude. I am afraid of Lady Delahaye, Arnold. There are things in her eyes when she looks at me which make me shiver. Do not let us go there again, please!"

Arthur broke in impetuously.

"You shall go nowhere you don't want to, Isobel. Arnold and I will see to that."

"And--about the other thing--she mentioned," Isobel began.

"She was right and wrong," I answered. "Of course, it would be better for you if one of us had a sister or a mother living with us, but Mrs.

Burdett has always seemed to us like a mother, and I think--that it will be all right," I concluded a little lamely. "We need not worry about that, at present at any rate. Come, we've had a dull afternoon, and I sold a story yesterday. Let's go to Fasolas, and have a half-crown dinner."

"I'm on," Arthur declared. "We'll go and fetch Allan."

"You dear!" Isobel exclaimed. "I shall wear my new hat!"

Book II

CHAPTER I

"I have no doubt," Mabane said gloomily, "that Arthur is right. He ought to know more about it than old fogies like you and me, Arnold. We had the money, and we ought to have insisted upon it. You gave way far too easily."

"That's all very well," I protested, "but I don't take in a woman's fashion paper, and Isobel a.s.sured us that the hat was all right. She looks well enough in it, surely!"

"Isobel looks ripping!" Arthur declared, "but then, she looks ripping in anything. All the same, the hat's old-fashioned. You look at the hats those girls are wearing, who've just come in--flat, bunchy things, with flowers under the brim. That's the style just now."

"Isobel shall have one, then," I declared. "We will take her West to-morrow. We can afford it very well."

She came up to us beaming. She was a year older, and her skirts were a foot longer. Her figure was, perhaps, a shade more developed, and her manner a little more a.s.sured. In other respects she was unchanged.

"What are you two old dears worrying about?" she exclaimed lightly. "You have the air of conspirators. No secrets from me, please. What is it all about?"

"We are lamenting the antiquity of your hat," Mabane answered gravely.

"Arthur a.s.sures us that it is out of date. It ought to be flat and bunchy, and it isn't!"

"Geese!" she exclaimed lightly, "both of you! Arthur, I'm ashamed of you. You may know something about motors, but you are very ignorant indeed about hats. Come along, all of you, and gaze at my miniatures. I am longing to see how they look framed."

"As regards the hat----" I began.

"I will not hear anything more about it," she interrupted, laughing. "Of course, if you don't like to be seen with me--oh! Why, look! look!"

We had stopped before a case of miniatures. In the front row were two somewhat larger than the others, and Isobel's first serious attempts.

Behind each was stuck a little ivory board bearing the magic word "Sold."

"Sold!" Arthur exclaimed incredulously.

"It may be a mistake," I said slowly.

Mabane and I exchanged glances. We knew very well that, though the miniatures showed promise of talent, they were amateurish and imperfect, and the reserve which we had placed upon them was quite out of all proportion to their merit. It must surely be a mistake! We followed Isobel across the room. A little elderly gentleman was sitting before a desk, engaged in the leisurely contemplation of a small open ledger.

Isobel had halted in front of him. There was a delicate flush of pink on her cheeks, and her eyes were brilliant.

"Are my miniatures sold, please?" she exclaimed. "My name is Miss de Sorrens. They have a small ivory board just behind them which says 'Sold.'"

The elderly gentleman looked up, and surveyed her calmly over the top of his spectacles.

"What did you say that your name was, madam, and the number of your miniatures?" he enquired.

"Miss Isobel de Sorrens," she answered breathlessly, "and my miniatures are number two hundred and seven and eight--a portrait of an elderly lady, and two hundred and eighty-nine--a child."

The little old gentleman turned over the pages of his ledger in very leisurely fashion, and consulted a recent entry.

"Your miniatures are sold, Miss de Sorrens," he said, "for the reserve price placed upon them--twenty guineas each. The money will be paid to you on the close of the Exhibition, according to our usual custom."

"Please tell me who bought them," she begged. "I want to be quite sure that there is no mistake."

"There is certainly no mistake," he answered, smiling. "The first one was bought by--let me see--a n.o.bleman in the suite of the Archd.u.c.h.ess of Bristlaw, the Baron von Leibingen. I believe that her Highness is proposing to visit the Exhibition this afternoon. The other purchaser paid cash, but refused his name. Ah! Excuse me!"

He rose hastily, and moved towards the door. A little group of people were entering, before whom the bystanders gave way with all that respect which the British public invariably displays for Royalty. Isobel watched them with frank and eager interest. Mabane and I moved over to her side.

"Is it true?" I asked her.

"He says so," she answered, still a little bewildered. "Arnold, can you imagine it? Forty guineas! I--I----"

There followed an amazing interlude. The little party of newcomers, before whom everyone was obsequiously giving way, came face to face with us. Mabane and I stepped back at once, but Isobel remained motionless.

An extraordinary change had come over her. Her eyes seemed fastened upon the woman who was the central figure of the little procession, and the girl who walked by her side. Someone whispered to her to move back. She took no notice. She seemed as though she had not heard. Royalty raised its lorgnettes, and dropped them with a crash upon the polished wood floor. Then those who were quick to understand knew that something lay beneath this unusual awkwardness.

The manager of the Gallery, who, catalogue in hand, had been prepared personally to conduct the Royal party round, looked about him, wondering as to the cause of the _contretemps_. His eyes fell upon Isobel.