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“It’s cheek of me to suggest it, seeing that I don’t know a thing about it,” she said diffidently. “But do you think perhaps it’s possible that really it’s a book, not a play, that you’ve got in your mind?”

It was so long before he answered that Rosamund was convinced that he thought she was not only cheeky but stupid.

Suddenly he stood up and pulled her to her feet. For a moment they stood face to face, their hands still linked. Then he bent his tall head and very gently kissed her on her soft pink mouth.

“Bless you, Rosamund!” he said huskily, and without another word, turned and strode into the day cabin.

Rosamund watched him go, her fingers gently touching the lips he had just kissed. Then, feeling as if it must all be a dream, she took the coffee cups into the galley and cleared up the debris of their meal. When everything was done to her satisfaction, she went out on deck again and tiptoed to the door of the day cabin. She need not have been cautious. John was far beyond the state where extraneous noises could disturb him. Already he had reduced his scattered manuscript to a neat pile, and with occasional references to it, he was writing, writing, writing as if his life depended on it.

Perhaps it did, Rosamund thought—that creative part of him which, denied, would mean that he wouldn’t be able to live his life to the full. And that, she thought passionately, was what she wanted most for him—fulfilment and, wonder of wonders, she had already played a part, however small, in helping him to achieve that.

Contentment filled her—a contentment of a sort so deep rooted that, inexperienced as she was where men were concerned, she knew instinctively could mean only one thing. She loved John. And she always would.

*

“No, no luck at all,” Dr. Rob confirmed glumly. “Not even though you were able to let me know the date of her birth. How did you manage to get that, by the way? You didn’t ask her outright, did you?”

“No, you asked me not to, so I resorted to devious means. You know, Rob,” she added wryly, “I’m getting all too good at that sort of thing! I think I must have a naturally criminal mind.”

“Most women have,” Dr. Rob told her matter-of-factly. “They’re convinced that the means are justified by the end—if it benefits someone near and dear to them.”

And to whom did that refer? Miss Alice wondered. To Rosamund or to himself? She had no intention of asking.

“Well, be that as it may, I needed to make an application for a new passport and I took care to fill in the form in front of Rosamund. I made some stupid remark about my age—that when one gets to a certain age one ought to be excused from revealing it and that I did my best to forget my birthdays now. Then I said something about that not being the case where she was concerned and wondered if her birthday was sufficiently near at hand for us to have a party. And she told me when it was. July the twenty-third, as I told you.”

“There was no hesitation in telling you?” Dr. Rob asked quickly.

“None whatever. But later on, after I’d rung you up to give you the date, she told me something that I found very interesting. She’s never had a passport, Rob. Never been out of the country, in fact.”

“In other words, has had no need to produce her birth certificate on that account," Dr. Rob said reflectively.

“Or, I think, on any other,” Miss Alice suggested. “You see, I’ve watched carefully and I’m quite sure that the name Dexter means nothing personal to her as, surely, it would do if she knew that it and not Hastings is her true name.”

“Yes, seems sound reasoning,” Dr. Rob agreed. “Which suggests that Ruth has taken care she doesn’t see her birth certificate because she was registered as Rosamund Dexter—”

“And
is
your daughter.”

“It’s a bit more evidence to support its probability,” Dr. Rob said judicially. “But still not proof. And that I feel I must have before I claim Rosamund!” He beat his hand emphatically on the wooden arm of his deck chair.

“Just what have you done so far?” Miss Alice asked.

“Made a thorough nuisance of myself at Somerset House,” Dr. Rob told her grimly, “I’ve had them search every district near to the address where Celia died, with no result at all. Which makes it clear that Rosamund was born outside that area. But where, where? Think what it means in London alone. It’s like hunting for a needle in a haystack!”

Miss Alice was silent. Personally she had come to the conclusion that Rob might be mistaken in deciding not to take Rosamund into his confidence, but the decision was for him to make, not her.

“It’s terribly discouraging,” she said at length.

“It is, indeed,” Dr. Rob agreed grimly. “So discouraging that I decided to make a more definite approach.”

“You mean—tell Rosamund?”

“No, not that. Tackle Ruth herself.”

“Oh, Rob!” It was impossible for Miss Alice to hide her dismay.

“Not wise, you think? Perhaps not, but in the circumstances, inevitable. In fact, I felt that so very strongly that I went to see her yesterday.”

“And—?” eagerly.

“I might have saved myself the trouble. I was told that Ruth has had a nervous breakdown, is in a nursing home and is allowed no visitors.”

Miss Alice looked at him sharply.

“It might be true, you know. She must be a very busy woman and not as young as she was. Besides, to a woman of her type, Rosamund’s defiance must have come as a very real shock. All the same,” she added shrewdly, “you don’t believe it, do you?”

Dr. Rob shrugged his shoulders.

“It may as you say, be true. But on the other hand, she must be perfectly well aware that she has put up the one type of obstacle between us which I can't possibly override. It wouldn’t be ethical.”

“But that means you think she knows that you and Rosamund—No, that’s impossible, Rob! How can she possibly connect you with Rosamund’s disappearance?”

“I don’t say that she can. But I do say that since she has never let me know of Rosamund’s existence, she must always have been afraid that we might meet by accident— as, indeed, we have. So now, isn’t it at least possible that she’s wondering if that has happened and decided to manoeuvre herself into a position where I can’t get at her to ask awkward questions?”

She didn’t answer and after a moment he went on:

“I know what you’re thinking, Alice. That even if she didn’t really connect Rosamund’s disappearance with me, she certainly will do so now! She’ll feel that it’s surely too great a coincidence that I turned up demanding to see her at this particular time. I’m afraid that’s true.” He stirred restlessly in his chair. “Yet is it such a very big risk? No one but my secretary knows where I am when I come down here and she also knows that the job wouldn’t last five minutes if she gave me away! Still, just to make sure, after this weekend, I'm not coming down here for a bit. Indeed, I shan’t be able to. I’ve had an invitation to lecture in America and frankly, I can’t refuse it. It’s not only that it’s an honour, but I’d give offence to some very good friends.”

“How long will you be away?” Miss Alice asked, her heart sinking uncontrollably. She had a conviction that the next few weeks were going to prove very important in the lives of the man beside her and the girl who had come so suddenly and unexpectedly into their lives.

“I’ll be back in three weeks,” Dr. Rob told her, and frowned. “It means, of course, that I won’t be able to make any more enquiries—but apart from that, will it really make much difference in the long run—that is, if you are staying on down here and will let her stay with you?”

“Yes, to both questions,” Miss Alice said slowly. “But you must remember, Rob, that whatever Rosamund may choose to do, I’ve no authority over her at all.”

He looked at her sharply.

“You’ve got something particular in mind, haven’t you?” he asked.

“Yes, I have, Miss Alice said unwillingly. “Though I don’t like telling tales out of school. It’s simply that she and John Lindsay:—” she indicated the
Seven Stars
with a jerk of her head—“have got very friendly this last week.”

“No more than that?”

“At this stage, no, I don’t think so.” Miss Alice chose her words with considerable care. “But there’s something about Rosamund—a sparkle a—a sort of inner light which might mean she’s falling in love with him. It’s difficult to explain just what I mean, but you must judge for yourself. They went into Bath together, but they’ll be back for tea.”

“H’m!” Dr. Rob’s frown was almost a scowl. “What’s your opinion of the young man, Alice?”

“I like him,” she said unhesitatingly. “I think he’s got a temper and is capable of being very moody—in fact, I know he is. On the other hand, he strikes me as being both clean and honest. But really I don’t know a great deal about him. In fact, Rob, he’s as reticent about his past as Rosamund is about hers!”

“Is he, indeed!” Dr. Rob exclaimed grimly, and then laughed. “You know, Alice,” he said wryly, “Rosamund being reticent' about her past simply seems to be natural and reasonable in the circumstances. But where this young man’s concerned, I’m inclined to jump to the conclusion that he’s got something shady to hide. In fact, with very little encouragement, I could play the heavy father to perfection ! Perhaps it’s just as well that I’m going away for a time. I might be tempted to interfere and precipitate something that otherwise might never happen. All the same—” his voice grew very tender—“keep an eye on my girl for me, Alice!”

“I’ll do that,” she promised gruffly, near to tears.

The warm summer days flitted past, one much like the other and, to Rosamund, all quite perfect. Every night before sleep engulfed her, she would live over again the day that had just passed. The pearly morning when, disturbed by the clamouring bird song, she had gone out on deck to breathe the chilly, sweet-scented air. The simple everyday tasks that she performed so effortlessly because she was so preoccupied thinking of the exquisite magic that had come into her life. And that, of course, meant that she was thinking of John. She knew now beyond all doubt that she loved him, and she was daring to hope that he was beginning to love her.

He sought her company, talked much more freely about his book with frequent references to the part she had played in finding the solution to his earlier problems. All
that would have been wonderful by itself, but there was much more to it than that. The little silences that fell between them had a significance at once sweet and disturbing. The way he looked at her when he didn't think she was noticing and the way in which his hand so often touched hers. Surely all that added up to one thing—he loved her even if, as yet, he didn’t realise it. But soon he would, and in the meantime she was content to wait in her world of dreams and hopes.

Only one thing troubled her. Sooner or later she would have to tell him more about herself—in fact, in view of his obvious interest in her, it surprised her that he had not already begun to ask questions, and oddly enough it didn't occur to her, as it had done to Miss Alice, that John himself was extremely reticent about
his
past.

Her concern was not whether John would be able t understand her genuine desire to get away from the hot-house existence of the past. It was the sort of life which, she was quite sure, would be repugnant to anyone of John’s simple tastes. None the less, the fact remained that she had been used to luxurious surroundings such as she knew, he couldn’t offer her. He had been quite frank about that.

“I’m living on the small income I get from money which my mother left me,” he had explained. “I plan to make out on that until—
if
—I sell my book.”

“You will,” Rosamund told him with serene conviction.

He gave her an enquiring look.

“What makes you say that so positively?”

“It’s rather difficult to explain,” she confessed. “But I think you—tell me, John, sometimes when you read though what you’ve written, do you just
know
it’s good— and you can hardly believe that you’ve written it?”

‘Yes! Even to the point of hardly being able to remember that I did write it! The old subconscious, I suppose, but how did you know?”

“It shows in your face—a sort of satisfied but awestruck look. I’m explaining very badly,” she apologised, seeing how startled he looked.

“No, you’re not, my dear! You’re making me understand just how well
you
understand. It’s as if you’ve read my thoughts! Tell me more about myself.”

“Certainly not!” she refused mischievously “You might get too vain—”

The colour surged up into her cheeks as she realised what John would read into that, and panic-stricken, she turned and fled. John didn’t follow her, but as she reached the sanctuary of the
Pride of London
she couldn’t resist the temptation to look back. John was standing just there she had left him. He was smiling and as she watched, he lifted his hand and blew her a kiss. For a moment Rosamund hesitated. Then she made a similar gesture and spent the rest of the day in such a bemused frame of mind that Miss Alice gave up any attempt at conversation. She understood what that head-in-the-clouds state meant. Rosamund
was
in love with John.

Miss Alice sighed. Perhaps it would be all right. Very often the two people most intimately concerned were the best judges of that despite the doubts of older folk. Nonetheless, her promise to Dr. Rob to look after Rosamund for him was, if not a burden certainly a very real anxiety.

During the next week, Miss Alice had to go to London to see a prospective client. She was considerably put out about it.

“Wasting this lovely weather going to town,” she grumbled. “It will be hot and smelly and extremely tiring.”

“Do you
have
to go?” Rosamund asked sympathetically.

“I’m afraid so. You see, the lady in question is regarded as a great beauty, but that isn’t enough, you know, to guarantee that there is anything I can really paint! Oh one can make a charming map of perfect features, of course, but that’s not the same as painting a portrait that
lives.
So I owe it to her and to myself to make sure that can get something out of her. If I don’t feel I can, thank goodness I’ve got to the stage where I can afford to turn work down if I think it’s necessary. And since I’ve already got grave doubts in this case, I’ve no choice but to find out, face to face.”