Berenice found the following morning a note from Borrowdean, which caused
her some perplexity.

"If you really care," he said, "to do Mannering a good turn, look his
niece up now and then. I am afraid that young woman has rather lost her
head since she came to London, and she is making friends who will do
her no particular good."

Berenice ordered her carriage early, and drove round to Portland
Crescent.

"My dear child," she exclaimed, as Clara came into the room, "what have
you been doing with yourself? You look ghastly!"

Clara shrugged her shoulders, and looked at herself in a mirror.

"I do look chippy, don't I?" she remarked. "I've been spending the
week-end down at Bristow."

"At Bristow?" Berenice repeated. Her voice spoke volumes. Clara looked up
a little defiantly.

"Yes! We had an awful spree! I like it there immensely, only--"

Berenice looked up.

"I notice," she remarked, "that there is generally an 'only' about people
who have spent week-ends at Bristow. They play cards there, don't they,
until daylight? Some one once told me that they kept a professional
croupier for roulette!"