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him.
    “ Where a dying father promptly consigned his daughter to your care, ” suggested Bertram flippantly.
    David regarded his cousin a little gr iml y,
    “ As a matter of fact, that was roughly what happened. But it was not specially amusing. ”
    “ Good Lord, was he really dying? ” Bertram had the grace to look slightly abashed—a rare thing with him.
    “ I think so, yes. Though I ’ m going to try to get Robin Drummond to come and have a look at him He should be in Munich just now. ”
    “ Yes, he should, ” Lady Ranmere agreed. “ But—but did you mean anything when you agreed with the second part of Bertram ’ s nonsense? ” She looked definitely apprehensive now. “ I mean—you couldn ’ t have a young girl consigned to your care. You aren ’ t old enough to be a young girl ’ s guardian, for one thing. ”
    “ Nothing so specific as guardianship was mentioned, Aunt Mary. ” David smiled slightly. “ I merely promised to do what I could to help her. ”
    At this there was silence. Anything but a satisfied silence, David felt. But he affected not to notice this and addressed himself to ordering something to eat, from the waiter who stood at his elbow. Then, turning back, he addressed his aunt more directly than the others.
    “ I know it ’ s an odd situation, and certainly not one of my choosing. But occasionally one can ’ t choose. Just as you wouldn ’ t refuse to help a child whose parent had been knocked down in the street, would you? ”
    “ No, of course not. But — ”
    “ This girl isn ’ t a child, is she? ” enquired Celia mildly.
    “ About eighteen or nineteen, I suppose. ”
    “ I see. ”
    “ A most interesting age, ” observed Bertram, apparently to himself.
    “ But, David— ” Lady Ranmere ’ s strong, good-looking face was a study— “ you seem to have become so personally involved. Surely there must be officials—very well, then, voluntary workers or something—who can look after the girl. It ’ s such an extraor d inary idea that you, a casual British visitor, should make yourself in any way responsible for an unknown Russian girl. ”
    “ That ’ s the odd part of the story, Aunt Mary. The mystery part, if you like. It seems— ” he glanced thoughtfully round the table —“ she is not a Russian girl, after all. At least, only on her mother ’ s side. Her father was an Englishman. ”
    “ An Englishman —”
    Everyone exclaimed in chorus, but it was Teresa Preston ’ s voice, pitched on a high, excited note, which dominated them all. And it was she who eagerly added, “ What Englishman? What was his name? ”
    “ I don ’ t know, I ’ m afraid, ” David admitted. And briefly he described the scene in which he had been told so much, and yet so tantalizingly little.
    “ It sounds bogus to me, ” Bertram remarked frankly.
    “ I assure you, ” his cousin retorted coldly, “ that was not how it sounded to me. ”
    “ But the story is completely unsubstantiated, David, ” his aunt pointed out dubiously. “ I don ’ t say it isn ’ t true. But, on the other hand, I suppose the poor soul realized you were an Englishman, and if he were desperately anxious about his girl, he might invent the tale, in order to excite your sympathy. ”
    “ He might, of course. But I ’ m convinced he did not. ”
    “ You don ’ t know, though, do you? ”
    “ No, of course not. But what do you suggest I should have done, Aunt Mary? ” He faced his aunt, whom he knew to be a just and kindly woman, and challenged her personally. “ Withheld reassurance from a dying man? Or do you think I should give up the whole thing now? Leave them wondering why I don ’ t return and why no English doctor is forthcoming? ”
    “ N-no. Not that, certainly. But — ”
    “ Of course not .” In a mood of high emotion, quite unlike the disapproving indifference she had shown at first, Mrs. Preston now rushed into the conversation. “ David must find out the truth.