"What is your daughter's name?"
"Her name is Karen."
"Where am I to find her?"
"Thirty miles out of London at Westheath. She is known there as Karen Girard."
"She chose to be so known in her profession."
"Her profession?"
"She has been on the stage—against my wishes. She is preparing herself further—contrary to my wishes. Until she disassociates herself from that profession she will not use the name of von Reiter."
Guild nodded slowly: "That is why your daughter is known as Karen Girard?"
"That is why. She is a young girl—nineteen. She went to school in her mother's country, Denmark. She imbibed notions there—and, later, in England among art students and others. It is the well-born who succumb most easily to nonsense once the discipline is relaxed. She has had her way in spite of my authority. Now it is time for such insubordination to cease. I wish to have my daughter back. I cannot get her. You are—American—to all intents and purposes, and you would be under no suspicion in England. Your appearance, your speech, your manners all are above suspicion. You can do this. I have made up my mind concerning you, and I trust you. Will you go to England, find my daughter and bring her back to me here; or, if I am ordered elsewhere, will you escort her to my country place in Silesia which is called Rehthal?"