Upon the first quiet opportunity Betty the history of her walk to her mother, who listened with the deepest interest and sympathy.  
“It was a great opportunity, dear, and you made the most of it. I am proud of my daughter,” she said. “I will join with you in praying that the poor fellow may be kept true to his pledge. It’s not the first step which costs in these struggles, whatever the proverb may say; the hardest part of the fight comes later on, when the first excitement is over, and progress seems so pitifully slow. So don’t let yourself grow weary in well-doing, dear Betty. Your poor friend will need your prayers more and more, not less and less.”
 
“Oh no, I shall never grow tired,” said Betty confidently. Then her face clouded, and she sighed. “Mother, do you suppose I shall ever—see him again?”
 
“It is very unlikely, dear. He is going so far away, and will have no money to spare for visits home. It must be a large sum which he has to repay, if the loss of it such a change in his friend’s household. With everything in his favour it would take a long time to earn.”
 
“How long, mother?”
 
“Dear child, what a question! It is impossible to say. It would be extraordinary, I should think, if he managed it in less than a dozen years.”
 
“A dozen years! I should be thirty! I shall be at thirty,” thought Betty ruefully, recalling the vision of the sweet, flushed face which had looked at her from the mirror the day before. Could it be possible that a dozen years—twelve whole years—could pass by without bringing her any tidings of “Ralph”? In the state of exaltation which had her last night she had felt raised above the need of words, but already reaction had set in, and with it a strange sense of depression at the thought of the future.
 
It was good to know that there was Cynthia to talk to—Cynthia, who might not be able to advise and strengthen as wisely as mother did, but who was a girl, and knew how girls felt—“up and down, and in and out, and—oh, and so topsy-turvy upside down!” thought poor Betty to herself.
 
A breathless, “I want to speak to you; I have something dreadfully interesting to tell!” whispered in a chance encounter in the street, brought an invitation to tea ‘in my own room, where we shan’t be bothered’; and under these happy the adventure was once more related, while Cynthia’s grey eyes grew wide with excitement.
 
“Dear Betty, how glorious for you!” she cried ecstatically. “What a wonderful thing to remember! You can never be blue again, and say that you are no use in the world. To have saved a man’s life, and started him on the right road—at eighteen—not eighteen! You are the most fortunate girl in the whole world! It’s so strange that this chance should have come to you on that particular day, because your brother and I had been talking about the different work of men and women as we walked over the Park to the Albert Hall, and he said that if it was men’s province to make the greatest things in the world, it was women’s work to make the men; and that was what you did, Betty dear. You helped God to make a man!”
 
Betty raised her brows in a surprise which was not altogether agreeable.
 
“Miles—Miles said so! How extraordinary! He never talks like that to me, and he hardly knew you at all. However did you come to discuss such a subject?”
 
“I asked him about his work, and envied him for being able to do something real. He is a nice boy. I like him very much,” said Cynthia .
 
Imagine being favoured with confidences from Miles, and remaining quite cool and unconcerned! For a good two moments Betty forgot all about her own affairs in sheer wonder at such an astonishing state of mind. Then remembrance came back, and she asked eagerly—
 
“Cynthia, do you think I shall ever hear anything more about him? Mother says it will take years and years to save so much money. Do you think I shall ever know?”
 
“Yes!” said Cynthia confidently. “Of course you will know. He will find some way of telling you. You told him your address, so it was the easiest thing in the world to find out your name. You will get something from him every year—perhaps on Christmas Day, perhaps in summer, perhaps on the anniversary of the night. It may be only a newspaper, it may be a letter, it may be just a flower—like the man in The Prisoner of Zenda sent to the princess, but it will be something! He mayn’t sign his name or give his address, but he will want you to know—he will feel you ought to know that he is alive and remembering.”
 
Oh, the beauty of a girl confidante! How truly she understands the art of comfort!
 
“And shall I ever see him again?”
 
“Yes—if you both live. He will want to see you again more than anything in the world, except paying off his debt. When that is done, he will rush straight off to you and say, ‘Here I am. I have worked hard and kept my promise. To-day I can look the whole world in the face, for I owe not any man. I have my friend and my position, and it is your doing. You saved me! All these years the thought of you has been my inspiration. I have lived in the thought of seeing your face again—’”
 
“Oh, oh, oh!” cried Betty, . “And I shall be hideous, Cynthia, hideous! Fancy, I may be thirty! What will he think, when he sees me so changed?”
 
“He won’t mind a bit—they never do. He will say, ‘Though worn and haggard, you are still in my eyes the most beautiful woman in the world!’” cried Cynthia.
 
And then, being only eighteen—nearly eighteen—each girl suddenly from her high horse, and went off into after peal of laughter, merry, heart-whole laughter, which floated to Mrs Alliot’s ears as she lay on her couch in the drawing-room, and brought a smile to her pale face. This new friendship was doing great things for her lonely girl!
 
Towards the end of the Christmas holidays the great news circulated that Mrs Vanburgh was coming home, and bringing her two younger sisters for a few weeks’ shopping in town. Agatha and Christabel had just returned from two years’ abroad, and were presumably “finished” young ladies. Cynthia and Betty wondered how much finished, and whether finished enough to look down with contempt upon unfinished damsels still undergoing the of “classes!”
 
It was a thrilling occasion when they were bidden to tea “to meet my sisters,” and Betty felt she would hardly have had coura............