“No, I’ve been tremendously busy fitting on my new harness and have had no time for calling.”

“And yet you are here!” she protested, with arched brows.

“Oh yes, but this is official; Gregory as good as ordered me to wait upon his consort.”

“Hush, hush, Douglas!  She is a great friend of mine—­my own cousin, and a dear.  Of course, I know that George looks as if he had swallowed the fire-irons, but that really means nothing; he is obliged to keep all you naughty boys in order!”

“You think I’m a naughty boy?”

“Oh well, I didn’t mean that, my young Sir Galahad!  Now come away with me and I’ll show you the wonderful ferns and the orchid house.  I must have a good, comfortable, private talk.”

As soon as the pair found themselves alone in the fernery she turned to face him, and said, with unusual animation: 

“Now I want to tell you about Sophy—­I’m miserable when I think of her.”

“Miserable—­but why?”

“When you’ve been to call at ’Heidelberg’—­I may tell you it’s miles and miles away—­you’ll see for yourself; it’s my opinion that she has been decoyed out to this country under false pretences.”

“Oh, but surely Mrs. Krauss is her own aunt?”

“She is, and more or less an invalid, utterly broken down by years of Burma.  Mrs. Krauss is apathetic, dull, and baneless, and looks as if you could fold her up and put her in a bag.  Herr Krauss is a fat, loud-talking, trampling German—­not a gentleman, but a man with a keen eye to business.  His wife’s half-caste maid who waited upon her, managed the house, and was with her for years, has married and gone to Australia, and poor Sophy has been imported to replace the treasure; that is, to nurse her aunt, run the house, and play the old bounder’s accompaniments, for he, like Nero, is musical.  He is also a friend of that odious Bernhard’s.  Bernhard is a well-born Prussian—­I’ll say that for him—­the other is of the waiter class, who has made his money in China and Burma.”

“Oh, come, I say, this is rather bad!  What’s to be done?”

“I only wish I knew.  The Krauss abode is large and gloomy—­it looks like a house in a bad temper, and stands in the heart of the German community; the servants seemed a low-class lot, the rooms were dark and untidy, and smelt of mould and medicine, but Sophy was just as bright and cheerful as usual; apparently delighted with everything—­loyal, of course, to her own blood.  Now, I know that you and Sophy are friends, and I want you to keep an eye upon her,” concluded this injudicious matron.

“I’m afraid my eye will not be of much use,” protested Shafto, “I am most frightfully sorry for what you tell me, but Miss Leigh has lots of pals.  There are the Pomeroys, Maitlands and——­”

“Yes, that’s true,” interrupted Mrs. Milward impatiently, “but she has no way of getting about.  Krauss takes the car and is away in it all day.  I gather that he has the strict German idea about a girl’s being brought up to cook, to sew, to slave, to find all her interests in her home!  In fact, he told me so plainly; he also added that he had paid for Sophy’s passage and implied that he intended to have the worth of his money—­his pound of flesh!”