her two
enemies."

And she locked the letter up. She thought she would do nothing. But as
the day wore on she was haunted by a feeling of self-hatred. She had
done many wrong things in her life, but certain types of wrong things
she had never yet done. Her sins had been the sins of what is called
passion. There had been strong feeling behind them, prompting desire,
a flame, though not always the purest sort of flame. She had not been a
cold sinner. Nor had she been a contemptible coward. Now she was beset
by an ugly sensation of cowardice which made her ill at ease with
herself. She thought of Seymour Portman. He was able to love her, to go
on loving her. Therefore, in spite of all her caprices, in spite of all
she had done, he believed in that part of her which men have agreed
to call character. She could not love him as he wished, but she had
an immeasurable respect for him. And she knew that above all the other
virtues he placed courage, moral and physical. Noblesse oblige. He would
never fail. He considered it an obligation on those who were born in
what he still thought of as the ruling class to hold their heads high in
fearlessness. And in her blood, too, ran something of the same feeling
of obligation.

If she put her case before Seymour what would he tell her to do? To ask
that question was to answer it. He would not even tell. He would not
think it necessary to do that. She could almost hear his voice saying:
"There's only one thing to be done."

She was loved by Seymour; she simply could not be a coward.

And she unlocked the box in which the letter was lying, and ordered her
car to come round.

"Please drive to Claridge's!" she said as she got into it.

On the way to the hotel she kept saying to herself: "Seymour! Seymour!
It's the only thing to do. It's the only thing to do."

When the car stopped in front of the hotel she got out and went herself
to the bureau.

"Please give this to Miss Van Tuyn at once. It is very important."

"Yes, my lady."

"Is she in?"

"I'm not sure, my lady, but I can soon--"

"No, no, it doesn't matter. But it is really important."

"It shall go up at once my lady."

"Thank you."

As Lady Sellingworth got into her car she felt a sense of relief.

"I've done the right thing. Nothing else matters."

CHAPTER VI

Miss Van Tuyn was not in the hotel when Lady Sellingworth called. She
did not come back till late, and when she entered the hall she was
unusually