“But I, as a late member, am permitted to tell you this much, Mrs. Haddo. I was, and I think quite rightly, expelled from the club.”
“Betty!”
“It is true,” answered Betty.
“And you will not tell me why?”
“No more can I tell you why than I can explain to you what I have lost.”
“Betty, my poor child, there is a mystery somewhere. I am deeply puzzled and terribly distressed. This is Wednesday evening. This day week, at the same hour, I will send for you again and ask for your full and absolute confidence. If you refuse to give it to me, Betty, I will not expel you, my child; but I must send you from Haddo Court. I have an old friend who will receive you until I can get into communication with Sir John Crawford, for the sort of mystery which now exists is bad for the school as a whole. You are intelligent enough to perceive that.”
“Yes, Mrs. Haddo, I am quite intelligent enough to perceive it.” Betty stood up as she spoke.
“Have you anything more to say?”
“Nothing,” replied Betty.
“This day week, then, my child. And one word before we part. The chapel where Mr. Fairfax reads prayers—where God, I hope, is worshiped both in spirit and in truth—is meant as much for the sorrowful, the erring, the sinners, as for those who think themselves close to Him. For, Betty, the God whom I believe in is a very present Help in time of trouble. I want you to realize that at least, and not to cease attending prayers, my dear.”