"She could not have worn the things you do, Betty," said the affectionate
maternal creature. "She was such a little, slight thing. But she was
very pretty. I wonder if twelve years have changed her much?"

Betty turned towards her rather suddenly.

"Mother," she said, "sometime, before very long, I am going to see."

"To see!" exclaimed Mrs. Vanderpoel. "To see Rosy!"

"Yes," Betty answered. "I have a plan. I have never told you of it, but
I have been thinking over it ever since I was fifteen years old."

She went to her mother and kissed her. She wore a becoming but resolute
expression.

"We will not talk about it now," she said. "There are some things I must
find out."

When she had left the room, which she did almost immediately, Mrs.
Vanderpoel sat down and cried. She nearly always shed a few tears
when anyone touched upon the subject of Rosy. On her desk were some
photographs. One was of Rosy as a little girl with long hair, one was of
Lady Anstruthers in her wedding dress, and one was of Sir Nigel.

"I never felt as if I quite liked him," she said, looking at this last,
"but I suppose she does, or she would not be so happy that she could
forget her mother and sister."

There was another picture she looked at. Rosalie had sent it with the