The bill did not take a minute to make out, and Radmore was rather surprised to find that the three hats—­for he bought three—­cost him not far short of fifteen pounds between them, though the lady observed pleasantly, “Of course I can afford to sell my hats at a much less price than London people charge.”

To Betty’s eyes, Godfrey looked rather funny when he came out of the gay little painted door with a flower-covered bandbox slung over his right arm.

She had thought it just a little mean that the shop-woman should give Timmy Janet’s hat in a paper-bag.  Though Betty would have been horrified indeed at the prices paid by Radmore, she yet suspected that “The Bandbox” lady asked quite enough for her pretty wares to be able to throw in a cardboard box, so “Is that for Janet’s hat?” she called out.

“This,” he said, looking up at her, “is that queer-looking brown thing with the blue feather that suited you so well.  Of course I meant you to have it too.”

Betty felt at once disturbed, and yet, absurdly pleased.  “I’m afraid it was very expensive,” she began.  And then suddenly Radmore told himself that after all the poke bonnet had been cheap indeed if the thought of it could bring such a sparkle into Betty’s eyes, and such a vivid while delicate colour to her cheeks.

There came a day, as a matter of fact the day when Betty wore that quaint-looking bonnet for the first time, when she did venture to ask Godfrey what it had cost.  He refused to tell her, simply saying that whatever he had paid he had had the best of the bargain as it had been worth its weight in gold.  Even so it is very unlikely that she will ever know what that queer little bonnet, which she intends to keep as long as she lives, really meant to Godfrey Radmore—­how it had suddenly made him feel that here was the young Betty of nine years ago come back, never to disappear into the mists of time again.

Something else happened in the High Street of that little Sussex town.  Radmore decided that it was Timmy’s turn to sit behind, and the boy gave in with a fairly good grace; though after they had left the houses behind them and were again moving swiftly between brown hedges, he called out patronisingly:—­“The back of your head looks very nice now, Betty—­quite different to what it looked in that horrid old hat you left in the shop.”

At last the car slowed down in front of a gate, on one side of which was a big board.  On this board was painted a statement to the effect that the historic estate of Doryford House was to be let or sold, furnished or unfurnished, “Apply to the principal London agents.”

The finding of the place had not been quite easy, and Radmore drew a breath of relief as he helped Betty down.

“When Timmy and I were last here,” he said hurriedly, “there was a child very ill at the lodge.  So I think I’d better go and just find how things are.”

He was hoping with all his heart that the news he would see on the mother’s face would be good news.  Somehow he felt that it would be of happy augury for himself.