Several days later Betty Ashton was driven over to spend the day with Polly and Miss Adams. Her accident had not been a serious one, since by putting her ankle into splints at once she had saved it from dangerous swelling. Nevertheless she was unable to walk about except on crutches and so the tedium of staying at home was trying. Particularly as this was one of Esther's days in Berlin devoted to her music lesson, Betty wished to be with her friends.

The three women had spent the morning out of doors, but after lunch, as it grew unexpectedly cool, Polly suggested that a small fire be laid in their queer German stove, which was built of porcelain and stood like an odd-shaped monument in a corner of the sitting room.

Betty was resting on the sofa, Miss Adams writing letters at her desk and Polly sitting on a low stool as close as possible to the few embers visible near the base of the stove. She had never forgotten her old devotion to a camp fire and this was as good a substitute as one could obtain in their little German household.

Strangely enough no one of the little company had spoken a single word for the past ten minutes, so that it might have appeared as though all possible confidences had been exchanged during the morning. Margaret Adams finally got up and coming across the room, seated herself on the edge of Betty's sofa. She was wearing a soft, dark-blue silk made with no other trimming than a girdle and a little round collar of lace, and she seemed very few years older than her two companions.

The Princess looked at the great lady admiringly. It had been difficult to think of Miss Adams today except as one of themselves. She had been so gay and friendly, laughing over their jokes and apparently never once thinking or talking of herself. How wonderful to be able to accept fame and wealth in so simple a spirit, and what an object lesson for erratic Polly! Yet some benefit must Miss Adams have received from her friend, for surely she was looking years younger since her arrival in the German forests and so rested that she might soon be able to go back to her work with renewed talent. Think of being rested by being in Polly O'Neill's society! How surprised Polly's mother and Mollie would be by this information! And unconsciously Betty began smiling into the lovely face now bending over hers.

Could it be possible that Miss Adams was actually blushing, that she was returning her gaze with a kind of gentle timidity that somehow recalled either Mollie or Meg?

Then suddenly Margaret Adams said, "Betty, I have been wishing to apologize to you ever since the day of your accident. I know that no one else will tell you, but on the evening when we were so worried over deciding what might have become of you, I suggested that you might have gone for a walk or drive alone with Lieutenant von Reuter without thinking to let your mother know, and that some accident had occurred to delay you. At the time Polly scolded me dreadfully for my lack of faith in you, yet I don't feel that it would be quite fair to you unless I make this confession."

What on earth would Betty Ashton not have given at this moment to have prevented her cheeks from suddenly crimsoning in such a ridiculous fashion? Would she never hear the end of her escapade? Excepting her mother, her own family had been curiously severe and unsympathetic over what had seemed to her only an act of foolishness on her part, scarcely a crime. And here was Polly O'Neill also frowning upon her at this present instant as if she had been a saint herself during all her past life.

"It is all right, Miss Adams, of course," Betty murmured. "I am not in the least offended by your conjecture. It was natural enough under the circumstances, I think." And here Betty raised herself on one elbow, forgetting everything else in her earnestness. "Won't you tell me, please, Miss Adams, if it would have been so dreadful a thing if I had done what you supposed? Of course I should have let mother know, but otherwise I should not have thought anything of it. Why, it seems to me that it would have been much better had I had a companion on my walk. Because when I was such a goose as to catch my foot in a tangle of vines and tumble headlong, had Lieutenant von Reuter been with me he could have helped me home or at least let mother hear so that I need not have given so much trouble and uneasiness."

Miss Adams kissed the girl impetuously, failing to see that Polly was frowning at them both.

"Yes, dear, since you honestly wish to know, it would not have been wise," the older woman answered, "though I understood at the time that you might have done the thing without thinking. You know there is an old expression—and of course these old expressions bore us so that we are apt to forget how vital they are—that when we live in Rome we must do as the Romans so. I wish American girls would remember this adage a little better when they are traveling in Europe. You see, these old countries over here have had their customs much longer than we have had ours, and a walk with a friend would have meant nothing of any importance to you, but to them——"

"Margaret," Polly O'Neil broke into the conversation abruptly, "I don't mean to be rude in interrupting you. But there is one thing that Betty Ashton has never yet explained to my satisfaction or anybody else's, and I don't see why she should not do it now. Will you please tell me, Betty, whatever induced you to start off on such a journey by yourself? You must have known that the walk would take you several hours at least, even if nothing unforeseen had happened. Surely you had sense enough to know that your wandering around in a strange woods alone without anyone's knowing where you were would not be safe at any time or place. What made you do it?"

Betty bit her lips. It was true that she and Polly had never failed in the past in being absolutely honest with each other, nor had she ever hesitated to ask of Polly anything that she herself desired to know. Yet it was hardly fair that she should be asked this particular question before a comparative stranger. It had been difficult enough to make Dick and Esther accept her explanation as a reasonable one after several days of discussion. So what should she now answer Polly? For her friend's eyes were upon her with that queer searching gaze they sometimes wore, and her high cheek bones were flushed with determination—and something else.

"Answer me," Polly repeated firmly.

"Why, I thought I told you the other morning," Betty returned meekly. "I had no very special reason for taking the walk. I was just nervous and restless and kind of worried and all of a sudden as I started for home, why it seemed to me that I could not bear to go indoors so soon. And then I thought of the beautiful woods where we were together a while ago and I believed that if I could rest there for a little I should be——"

"Be what, Betty Ashton?" Polly demanded almost savagely. And then she shook her head sagely and with her arms about her knees relapsed into her old habit of rocking herself thoughtfully back and forth. "You need not try to explain anything further to me or to any one else for that matter. Your explanations are too absurd. Because if you don't know yourself what is the trouble with you, Esther and I both do. You are falling in love. You have not been like yourself for weeks! Why do you suppose that just now when I asked you a simple question that you should hesitate and flush? You went to that same old place in the forest alone just because you wanted to think about——"

But the Princess was now getting up from her place on the sofa and the other girl understood perfectly well her pretty air of offended dignity.

"Miss Adams," Betty began quietly, "it is growing late and if you don't mind will you ask your maid to send for my carriage. I have had a lovely day with you. Thank you for having asked me." And as she started limping into the other room for her wraps it was the older woman who slipped her arm affectionately about her, in the meantime frowning at Polly with more displeasure than she had ever before shown.

But Mistress Polly did not stir from her stool nor cease from rocking herself after the other two women had disappeared. Nor did she even repent sufficiently to help Betty out to her carriage, in spite of her friend's temporary lameness and need of her. The maid and Margaret could this time fill her place. But it was not only bad temper nor was it exactly repentance for her impertinence that kept Polly so steadfast in her childish position. It was ridiculous of her, certainly, and yet she could not keep back her tears. She had been fearful that her beloved Betty was beginning to care for this young foreigner; now she felt absolutely assured of it. For Betty would not even deny her accusation nor quarrel with her effrontery. How grown-up she had become, her dear Princess! And what a gracious, high-bred manner she had! It was too dreadful to have to think of leaving her behind in a foreign country forever and ever, married to a man whose ideas of life must be so different from theirs. Well, for her part she should fight against such a marriage taking place to the bitter end!

Nevertheless this resolution did not keep Polly from feeling like a very rude and much-snubbed little girl for the rest of that afternoon and evening. Miss Adams did not refrain from assuring her that she had behaved like a bad-mannered child. For whether or not the Princess was beginning to care for the young lieutenant, it was both unjust and unkind in Polly to try to tear away the delicate veil of romance which in the beginning should cover all young eyes.

As for Betty herself, she of course made no comment on the day's experiences to her family, except to say that she had had a pleasant enough time, but was tired. No one of them paid her as much attention as usual, for they were too deeply interested in some news which Dick Ashton had just received in an American letter. Anthony Graham had written saying that old Judge Maynard had recently died and that Betty had been mentioned in the old man's will. The will had not yet been probated, but would be within the month, when full particulars would be furnished them. At the time of his death Anthony had been with the old Judge, who had asked that the Ashton family be advised of his intention.

It was odd that under the circumstances Betty should appear to be the least interested of the four persons about their small dinner table in the news of her own good fortune.

"I wonder how much the legacy will amount to, mother—only a few hundred dollars, I presume," Dick Ashton suggested. "It is an amazing thing to me, however, why Judge Maynard should have left Betty a cent. Of course he is an old bachelor with no heirs, but he seemed to have taken a great fancy to this Graham fellow. And moreover, Betty was entirely an outsider."

Mrs. Ashton would not entirely agree to her son's line of argument. For Judge Maynard and her husband had been great friends, and interested in a number of business ventures together in earlier days, when Mr. Ashton had helped make the Judge's fortune as well as his own. And the older man had not had the misfortune to lose his. Moreover, he had been devoted to Betty when she was a small girl and later had shown much interest in her effort to hold on to the old Ashton place.

"I should not be in the least surprised, dear, if the old Judge has left you as much as a thousand dollars," Mrs. Ashton insisted as she helped Betty undress and kissed her good-night.