If Mr. Donald Estey was hoping to take by strategy the citadel that had refused to surrender, he gave no sign. As the days came and went, he was clearly and consistently the good friend he had said he would be; and Helen Denby found no cause to complain, or to fear untoward results.
And so the winter passed and spring came; and it was on a beautiful day in early spring that Helen took Betty (now nine years old) to one of London's most famous curio-shops. There was to be an auction shortly of a very valuable collection of books and curios, and the advertising catalogue sent to Mr. Reynolds had fallen into Helen's hands.
It was no new thing for Helen to haunt curio-shops and museum-cabinets given over to Babylonian tablets and Egyptian scarabs. Helen had never forgotten the little brown and yellow "soap-cakes" which were so treasured by Burke and his father, and of which she had been so jealous in the old days at Dalton. At every opportunity now she studied them. She wanted to know something about them; but especially she wanted Betty to know about them. Betty must know something about everything—that was of interest to Burke Denby.
To-day, standing with Betty before a glass case of carefully numbered treasures, she was so assiduously studying the catalogue in her hand that she did not notice the approach of the tall man wearing glasses, until an amused voice reached her ears.
"Going in for archæology, Mrs. Darling?"
So violent was her start that it looked almost like one of guilt.
"Oh, Mr. Estey! I—I didn't see you."
His eyes twinkled.
"I should say not—or hear me, either. I spoke twice before you deigned to turn. I did not know you were so interested in archæology, Mrs. Darling."
She laughed lightly.