Rosemary in Search of a Father

"In London," said Rosemary. "She isn't my nurse any more."

"Well, your mother – "

"She isn't – "

"What? Are you going to tell me she isn't your mother any more? Are you out 'on your own,' little lady?"

"I don't know what that is; and my mother's my mother just as usual, thank you," said Rosemary, with dignity. "She's quite well. But she doesn't know I came out to look for you."

"Oh, doesn't she?" echoed the young man in the car. "Then don't you think the best thing you can do is to let me take you back to her?"

"She won't be home yet, not till it's dark, I expect," said the child.

"Oh, that's a long time yet. Well, since you know me, wouldn't you like to climb in, and have a little run?"

"May I, truly and really?" The little face grew pink with joy.

"Truly and really – if you're not afraid."

"What should I be afraid of?" Rosemary asked.

"I was talking nonsense. Get down, Paul, and put her into the tonneau. You'd better sit by her, perhaps."

The chauffeur proceeded to obey, but when the child found herself being tucked into a back seat of the car, she gave a little protesting cry. "Oh, can't I sit in front with you?"

"Of course you can, if you like. Paul, wrap her up well in the rug. Now, little one, we're going to start. I won't take you too fast."

He turned the car, and passing the Casino drove up the hill, taking the direction of Mentone, when he had reached the top. He had not been over this road before, as he had arrived by way of Nice yesterday; but he had studied road maps, and knew both how and where he wished to go.

"Now," said he, driving carefully, "how do you like it?"

"Oh, it's wonderful!" answered Rosemary, with a rapt smile on her rosy face.

"Have you ever motored before?"

She shook her head. "Never."

"Brave Baby."

"I don't usually care to be called a baby," she remarked. "But I don't mind from you."

"I'm especially favoured, it seems," said the young man. "Tell me how you happen to know me? I can't think, I must confess, unless it was on shipboard – "

"There! I knew perfectly well it was you!" broke in Rosemary with a look of rapture. "You were on a ship, and you were lost at sea. But you're found again now, because it's Christmas Eve."

"I wasn't lost at sea, though, or I shouldn't be here with you," said Hugh Egerton. He glanced rather wistfully in a puzzled way at the lovely little face framed with blowing golden hair. There was something in the child's eyes which stabbed his heart; yet there was sweetness in the pain. "I'm afraid we're playing at cross purposes, aren't we?" he went on. "Was it on a ship that you saw me?"

"Oh, I didn't see you on the ship," said Rosemary. "I only knew you went away on one. I haven't seen you for ever and ever so long, not since I was a tiny baby."

"By Jove! And you've remembered me all this time?"

"Not exactly remembered. It was the feeling I had in my heart, just as Jane said I would, the minute I saw you, that told me it was you. That was why I ran to keep you from going on in your motor car, because if you had, I might have lost you again, forever and ever."

"So you might," said puzzled Hugh Egerton, pleased as well as puzzled. "And that would never have done for either of us."

"It would have been dreadful," replied Rosemary, "to have to wait for another Christmas Eve."

"Christmas Eve seems a day for adventures," said Hugh. "One finds new friends; – and dear little girls; and – goodness knows what I shall find next."

"We must find Angel next," Rosemary assured him. "She'll be so glad to see you."

"Do you really think so? By the way, who is Angel?"

"Mother. Didn't you know that?"

"I expect I'd forgotten," Hugh answered. She looked so reproachful, that not for the world would he have denied all knowledge of Angel. The child evidently took him for someone she had known; perhaps she had seen a photograph of some long lost friend of her family, who resembled him, and she had sprung to a conclusion, as children do. But she was an exquisitely pretty and engaging little thing, a grand little pal, and worth cultivating. Hugh liked children, especially girls, though he had always been rather shy with them, not knowing exactly how they liked best to be entertained, and finding it difficult to think of things to say, in keeping up a conversation. But there was no such difficulty with this child. It was really interesting to draw the little creature out, and see what she would say next. As for finding Angel, however, when the time came to do that, he thought he would prefer to bid Angel's daughter goodbye at the door. He had no fancy for scraping up an acquaintance with strangers through their children.

CHAPTER SIX

FAIRY FATHERS MUST VANISH

ROSEMARY sat in silence for a few moments, taking in the full meaning of her companion's answer to her last question. He had forgotten that Angel was Angel! Though she was warmly wrapped in a soft rug of silvery fur, a chill crept into her heart. Could it be that Nurse's words about father had been true, after all; and if they were, was she doing harm, rather than good, in bringing him home?

Presently Hugh waked out of his own thoughts, and noticed the little girl's silence.

"You're not afraid?" he asked, blissfully unconscious of offence. "I'm not driving too fast to please you?"

"Oh no," said Rosemary.

"You're not cold?"

"No, thank you."

"Nor tired?"

"No, not tired."

"But something is the matter?"

"I'm worrying," confessed the child.

"What about, little one?"

"I'm not sure if I ought to have spoken to you, or have come with you, after all."

To save his life, Hugh could not have helped laughing, though it was evidently a matter of serious importance. "What, do you think we ought to have a chaperon?" he asked. "Paul's in the tonneau, you know; and he's a most discreet chap."

"I don't know what a chaperon is," said Rosemary. "But will you promise not to be angry if I ask you something, and will you promise to answer, honour bright?"