“What do you mean by talking earnestly?” said Queenie, in the calm, dry manner which would have made any one but her sister think she was really surprised.

“Max told me,” said Doreen, “and I mean to stay here until I know.”

It needed very little reflection to tell Queenie that it was better for her sister to hear the truth at once.  So she told her.

Doreen listened very quietly, and then got up and wished her sister good night.

“Well,” said Queenie, “you take it very quietly.  What do you think about it?”

“I’ll tell you—­when I know myself,” answered Doreen, briefly, as she left the room.  The first result of the talks, however, was a conversation, not with Queenie, but with her brother, Max.  Doreen ran after him next morning as he was on his way to the stables and made him take a walk through the park with her instead of going for a ride.

“Max,” she said, coaxingly, when they had gone out of sight of the house, “you have been my confidant about this unhappy affair of Dudley’s—­”

But her brother interrupted her, and tried to draw away the arm she had taken.

“Look here, Doreen,” said he earnestly, “you’d better not think any more about him—­much better not.  I do really think the poor fellow’s right in what he hinted to my father, and that he’s going off his head; or, rather, I know enough to be sure that he’s not always perfectly sane.  Surely you must see that, in the circumstances, the less you think about him the better.”

“There I disagree with you altogether,” said Doreen, firmly.  “Max, papa and mamma can’t understand; they’ve forgotten how they felt when they were first fond of each other.  Queenie’s not old enough, and she’s too good besides.  Now, you do know, you do understand what it is to be head over ears in love.”

“Good heavens, Doreen, don’t talk like that!  You mustn’t, you know!”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” interrupted his sister, sharply.  “I tell you I love Dudley, and ever so much more since I’ve found out he is in great trouble; as any decent woman would do.  Now I don’t feel nearly so sure as everybody else as to what his trouble is, but I want you to find out, and to help me if you can.”

“What, play detective—­spy?  Not me.  It’s ridiculous, unheard of.  I’ve done it once on your account, and I never felt such a sneak in my life.  I won’t do it again, even for you, and that’s flat.”

And Max thrust his hands deep into his pockets.

“Won’t you?” said Doreen, with a quiet smile.  “Then I must, and I will.”

Her brother started and stared at her.

“You! You! What nonsense!”

“It’s not nonsense, as you will find when you hear me get permission to go up to town to stay with Aunt Betty.”

Max grew sincerely alarmed.