"You have so many friends, Betty."
"Friends?" She smiled through her tears. "Friends are like policemen—always round the corner when most wanted. I might want you, and you—you—would be somewhere in Whitechapel."
Mark opened his mouth, and shut it again resolutely.
During that week he saw her twice. It was settled that The Whim should be let till she came of age; Betty living, meanwhile, with her guardian and trustee, Lady Randolph. Miriam Hazelby helped Betty to pack up the Admiral's china, and, when Mark called, played watchdog. She liked Mark and respected him; but she respected also the late Admiral's wishes. Mark noted that Miss Hazelby's affection and sympathy for Betty did not obscure her powers of observation.
"Betty," she said to Mark, "has a mind which till now has been a sundial: recording only the bright hours. I confess that I am anxious about her. When I left her I told the Admiral that she carried too much sail and not enough ballast. As a seaman he approved my trite little metaphor."
Mark began to praise Betty.
"Oh," said Miss Hazelby drily, "she has been fortunate in knowing good people to whose standard she tries to attain. It has been easy for her to avoid evil in King's Charteris, but in Belgrave Square——"
The excellent lady sniffed.
"Lady Randolph will keep an eye on her," said Mark.
"She'll need both eyes," retorted Miss Hazelby.