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“Poor Alice!” Dr.-Rob said absently. “But if you’ve never met her, you wouldn’t appreciate what a dominant personality she had. She was, and I suppose still is, a brilliantly clever woman at her job. In addition, she and I had one thing in common—we were both ruthlessly ambitious! In an incredibly short time she progressed from being a very humble worker employed by a London couturier to being his chief designer—there was even talk a partnership to come, so Celia told me. She, at that time, was modelling for the same firm and I gathered that quite a lot of Ruth’s success was due to the fact that Celia displayed her creations to such advantage.”

“I can well understand that,” Miss Coates said gently.

"Yes, indeed. But Ruth never gave credit to anyone else, even a close relative, although subsequent events proved that she knew it well enough.” He paused and sighed. “You know, Alice, it’s one of the tragedies of life that something in a woman that attracts a man may, after marriage, be the very thing that irritates him.”

“I don’t think that’s an exclusively male failing,” Miss Coates told him. “I’ve known cases—still, that’s by the way. Go on, Rob!”

“Celia was lovely enough to turn any man’s head. She had in addition a look of exquisite fragility that made an irresistible appeal— Rosamund has that same look, though I hope that in her case—”

“That she has something of you in her as well?” Miss Coates supplied gently as he paused. “Don’t worry, Rob, she has ! Courage—and spirit. She’s already shown that.”

“Courage and spirit,” he repeated. “Yes, that’s what was lacking in Celia, poor child! She had to have someone to lean on, and inevitably Ruth made capital of that. But she overdid it. She not only overworked Celia, she dominated her to the point where she couldn’t call her soul her own, and though Celia was really unhappy, she was quite helpless. That was where I came charging into the picture!” He laughed bitterly. “In my arrogance, I saw myself as a knight errant!
I
would rescue Celia from her bondage. We would get married and then Ruth would have to be more reasonable! I wouldn’t listen to Celia’s doubts. We were going to get married and that was that! She gave in—good lord, there wasn’t much to choose between Ruth and me when it came to bullying the poor little soul. But I, of course, did it from the highest of motives! Well, we were married very quietly one morning, had lunch together and then went off to our different jobs. When I got back to my uninspiring lodgings, Celia was already there—in floods of tears. You see we—or rather I—had assumed that Ruth would appreciate that she hadn’t sole claim on Celia now and would be less demanding. It hadn’t occurred to me that she’d sack Celia out of hand. But that’s what happened, and there we were, entirely dependent on what I earned as a houseman—which wasn’t much for two to live on! It was a pretty bleak outlook.”

“But surely Celia could have got a similar job elsewhere?” Miss Coates suggested, barely hiding her indignation.

“No. Ruth had seen to that. Celia had a contract which stipulated that she mustn’t work for any other similar firm in London, and since I was based on London, what was there to do about it? If she worked somewhere else, we might just as well not have been married! As regards any other type of work—Ruth had taken care that she simply hadn’t any abilities which could have made that possible. So there we were, hard up, living in squalid circumstances and rapidly becoming disillusioned, the pair of us. Quite apart from my determination to get on—doubled now that I had Celia to provide for—my work
was
demanding. Not only did I have to be away from home for long hours but there was also the fact that I could get caught up in an emergency, it’s like that in a hospital and one has no choice but to get on with it. But it was all new to Celia. She felt neglected and she was bored beyond words. There wasn’t enough money to spare for outings and there she was stuck in those ghastly lodgings with nothing to do. Small wonder that she felt I’d let her down. Not, of course, that I admitted it. I told her that she ought to have known what marrying a doctor meant—and that I’d no choice but to work hard in the hope of promotion since I’d got her to provide for as well as myself. She cried, poor child, and that made me impatient. I said a lot more things that I’ve bitterly regretted since.”

He fell silent and Miss Coates stared straight ahead of her. She couldn’t bear to see that regret that was even now, she knew, written on his kindly face.

“Then one day when I came home she was tremendously excited and gay. Ruth had been to see her. There was a big dress show coming off the next day and the model who had taken Celia’s place had gone down with appendicitis. Would Celia take her place—but of course, only temporarily. There was no promise of future work— Ruth was too clever not to make that clear! But I saw it for what it was—the thin end of the wedge that she intended to drive between Celia and me. I told her that and she shrugged her shoulders. I’d blamed her for being a burden on me and so how could I object now that she had got a chance of earning some money?"

“Which, of course, was unanswerable," Miss Coates commented. “And naturally, there were more offers of work?"

“Oh yes. Occasionally at first but with increasing frequency. Then I had the offer of this post in America. I was determined to take it—and to take Celia with me, but she refused, point blank. She simply didn’t trust me. I’d let her down once, how did she know that I wouldn’t do it again? Suppose something went wrong in America? We argued—quarrelled, and in the end I gave my ultimatum. She could come or not as she chose, but either way I intended going to America."

“But still she wouldn’t?"

“No, she wouldn’t. I might have persuaded her, but not with Ruth in the background, frightening her—and offering her the old job back again. So that was the end of it. She went back to live with Ruth and a month or so later I left England. I went to see her the night before and asked her for the last time to change her mind—she could have followed me over there. But it was no good." He sighed heavily. “That was the last time we saw one another, and though I wrote several times, she never replied."

Silence fell between them. Then Miss Coates said slowly:

“Yes, I do see what you mean, Rob, about the possibility of history repeating itself. Substitute Rosamund for Celia in what you’ve told me and it fits perfectly—except that Rosamund isn’t married. She told me so herself.”

“I'm glad of that. It puts me in a stronger position for dealing with Ruth," Dr. Rob said grimly.

‘‘Yes, I suppose so." Miss Coates frowned consideringly. “Rob, how did you hear of Celia's death?"

“From Ruth. And there was no doubt but that it was the truth. She enclosed the certificate."

“Did she!" Miss Coates sat suddenly erect. “Rob, what was the cause—”

“Not childbirth,” Dr. Rob had no difficulty in reading
her thoughts. “Influenza—there was a lot about just then.”

“But that doesn’t mean that she couldn’t have had a child,” Miss Coates argued eagerly. “But surely she’d have let you know, either before or after Rosamund was born!”

“She may have done, but if so, I never received the letter. There again, Ruth may have intercepted it.” Dr. Rob stood up and paced up and down the deck. “What I must discover is how the child was registered at birth— if so, more than likely, by Ruth. Was it under her correct surname, if she is my daughter? Or under Ruth’s? After all, Rosamund gives her name as Hastings. Ruth may have said that she was her own illegitimate child—”

“Yes, that’s a possibility, I suppose,” Miss Coates admitted. “Even so, there’s Rosamund’s likeness to Celia, particularly her eyes. That would want some explaining because, as stepsisters, there was no tie of common blood between Celia and Ruth.”

“Yes, there’s that,” Dr. Rob agreed. “Then, speaking from memory, I think Celia died at a private address. I can verify that when I get back to town. It’s important, of course, because in all probability, Rosamund was born in the same district, though not necessarily at the same address. That will help to limit the scope of the search, hat, and the date of her birthday.”

“I’ll find that out somehow,” Miss Coates promised, and stood up. “She’s just coming through the gate, Rob,” e warned. “Pull yourself together, my dear, or she’ll guess that something has happened—and we don’t want her to be afraid it’s about her and take flight! ”

“No, indeed!” Dr. Rob agreed fervently, as he, too, watched the approach of the slender figure. He slipped his hand under his companion’s arm and pressed it gently. “I'll never cease to be thankful that she's fallen into your kind hands, Alice!”

Without speaking, Miss Coates returned the pressure. Then, acknowledging Rosamund’s blithe wave of the hand, they went smilingly to meet her.

Rosamund dangled her bare feet over the bank opposite the
Pride of London
, and decided that she had never been so blissfully happy in her life before or known such peace of mind. Even the erratic tapping of John’s typewriter so near at hand didn’t worry her. Why should it? He, presumably, was enjoying what he was doing and in her present frame of mind Rosamund was prepared to extend toleration, if not liking, towards any of her fellow beings who contrived to live their lives as it suited them—that was, so long as they didn’t hurt anyone else in doing so.

Her smooth forehead puckered.
She
was living her own life, but in doing so she was certainly upsetting Aunt Ruth. She was truly sorry about that, but how could she avoid it? Just supposing she had not run away, what hope of compromise could there have been? Aunt Ruth’s attitude where the Salon was concerned was so very definitely: “
All or nothing!”
Rosamund knew only too well that no matter how forcefully she had stated her case or how glibly Aunt Ruth had promised that things should be different and agree to make fewer demands on her in future, that state of affairs wouldn’t have lasted. Sooner or later, enthusiasm would have run away with her aunt and they would have been back where they were before.

She was quite sure of that, for she knew beyond doubt that even after reading that letter which had been very difficult to write, so plain-spoken was it, Aunt Ruth still didn’t blame herself for what had happened.

Her aunt had not written to her, of course. That was impossible since no one connected with her old life knew where she was. But Ruth had contrived to send her a message, none the less. Every possible day since she had read the letter she had put an appeal in the personal column of the
Daily Telegraph.
It read:

“Rosamund darling, come back to me! All forgiven, no recriminations,
R.H.”

Perhaps the appeal in the first part of the message might have made Rosamund weaken. But the last sentence was an unmistakable warning. There would be a prodigal’s welcome for her and however little Ruth might actually say, in her heart, she would blame Rosamund, not herself for what had happened.

So there it was. You might regret causing distress to someone else, but when you were convinced that what you had done was both right and necessary, you had to go through with it.

The week that she had spent with Miss Coates—or Miss Alice as she preferred to be called—had only served to strengthen that belief. It would hardly be possible to live in closer companionship with a person than in the comparatively restricted confines of the boat. Yet never once had Rosamund felt any sense of intrusion of her own personality. Nor, in addition, had she felt any uncomfortable obligation for the hospitality which had been so freely given.

You could hardly have two people less alike than Miss Alice and Aunt Ruth, and yet they had some things in common. Each did work which they loved and did it with great skill. And in each case, they were dependent on the approval of other people for their success. But there the likeness ended. Of course, Miss Alice didn’t need anyone to help her do her work, whereas Aunt Ruth did. But it was something which went deeper than that. Something in the basic nature of the two women, though just what it was, Rosamund couldn’t decide. The nearest she could get to it was that Miss Alice was essentially a
giver,
while Aunt Ruth was a
taker.

All the same, one mustn’t accept too much generosity when it seemed most unlikely that there would ever be any opportunity of making a return in kind. Of course, there was the question of the domestic chores which Rosamund had taken over, but that was only a very small thing, particularly as, though she was in a position to pay for her keep, Miss Alice refused point blank to allow her to do any such thing.

“Nonsense, child,” she had said emphatically when Rosamund had broached the matter. “You’re doing the jobs for me which I frankly dislike, and because of that, I’ve more time to do the work I enjoy—and for which, by the way, I shall be paid!”

Which Rosamund knew was true, yet it didn’t altogether satisfy her.

“Miss Alice, why are you being so good to me?” she asked wonderingly.

Miss Alice looked up from her little sketch block and smiled.

“For a variety of reasons, my dear. At first, because you were in distress and it seemed to me that I could and should help you. Then, because I’ve grown fond of you. And finally—” she paused to concentrate on her delicate brushwork. “Finally,” she said deliberately, “because you remind me of—someone I once knew.”

“Do I? Had she got peculiar eyes like I have?” Rosamund asked with interest.

“Your eyes aren’t peculiar, my dear. Just rather unusual,” Miss Alice told her firmly.

And it was not until now that Rosamund realised that her question had remained unanswered, but of course, it wasn’t of any real importance.

But she had let her thoughts slide away from making plans for her future, and really, it was too glorious a day to think of anything except
here
and
now.
She wriggled a little nearer the edge of the canal bank and dabbled her feet in the warm water. A brilliant Red Admiral butterfly settled momentarily near to her hand, and a kingfisher flashed like a living jewel from one side of the canal to the other. It was heaven! She could have stayed here for hours, but the chiming of the church clock in the village reminded her that it was time for tea. Regretfully she stood up, walked up to the lock and crossed the canal by the narrow bridge which was part of the lock gates.