“I believe, sir,” the man answered, “that it is the same young lady who came here some weeks ago to inquire after Mr. Norris Vine.”

Phineas Duge was on his feet with a sudden soft, half-stifled exclamation.  Mr. Deane looked around the table.  His other guests were all talking amongst themselves.  Littleson, ignorant of what this might mean, was looking a little bewildered.  The ambassador addressed one of the men a little lower down the table.

“Sinclair,” he said, “will you take my place for a moment?  A little matter of business has turned up, and I am wanted.  I shall not be away long.”

The man addressed nodded, and, pushing back his chair, strolled toward the ambassador’s vacant seat, his cigar in his mouth.  Phineas Duge and Mr. Deane left the room together, and close behind them Littleson followed.  They left the room without any appearance of haste, but once in the hall Phineas Duge showed signs of a rare impatience, and pushed his way on ahead.  The door of the waiting-room was half open.  He strode in, and a little exclamation broke from his lips.  It was Virginia who stood there, and her hands were crossed upon her bosom, as though there were something there which she was guarding.  Nevertheless, at the sight of her uncle they fell away, and she started back.

“You!” she exclaimed.  “Uncle Phineas!  Here in London!”

He saw the signs stamped into her face of the evil times through which she had passed, and the more immediate traces of the crisis which lay so close behind her.  He held out both his hands, and stepped quickly toward her.  He was only just in time to save her from falling.

“I came,” she faltered, “to get money from Mr. Deane to send you a cable, to catch a steamer to come back to America.  I have got it!” she cried suddenly, her voice rising almost to a hysterical shriek.  “I have got it!  It is here!  See!”

She dragged something from the front of her dress—­a roll of papers, and held them out.  She was swaying upon her feet now, and Phineas Duge, his arm around her waist, half led, half carried her to a chair.  Littleson, who had darted out of the room, came back with a glass of water.  All three men stood around her.  The papers were there upon her knee, but her fingers seemed wound around them with some unnatural force.  Her burning eyes were fixed upon her uncle’s.

“Take them!” she begged.  “Read them!  Tell me that it is all right.  Tell me that you will keep your promise.”

He took them gently away.  A single glance at the sheet of foolscap was enough.

“You are a wonderful child, Virginia,” he said calmly.  “It is as you say.  These are the papers which Stella stole.  I blamed you for the loss of them too hardly, but you shall never be sorry that you succeeded in regaining them.”

She drew a queer little breath of relief, and leaned back in her chair.  She was still as pale as death, but the terrible strain had gone from her face.