ught, puzzled thought, it
seemed to Anne. But to Lydia it looked as if this kidnapping of Madame
Beattie from the past and thrusting her into the present discussion was
only a pretext for talking about Esther. Of course, she knew, he was
wildly anxious to enter upon the subject, and there might be pain enough
in it to keep him from approaching it suddenly. Esther might be a
burning coal. Madame Beattie was the safe holder he caught up to keep
his fingers from it. But he sounded now as if he were either much
absorbed in Madame Beattie or very wily in his hiding behind her.

"I've often wondered if she came back. I've thought she might easily
have settled on Esther and sucked her dry. No news of her?"

"No news," said the colonel. "It's years since she's been here. Not
since--then."

"No," said Jeff. There was a new line of bitter amusement near his
mouth. "I know the date of her going, to a dot. The day I was arrested
she put for New York. Next week she sailed for Italy." But if Lydia was
going to feel more of her hot reversals in the face of his calling plain
names, she found him cutting them short with another question: "Seen
Esther?"

"No," said the colonel.

A red spot had sprung into his cheek. He looked harassed. Lydia sprang
into the arena, to save him, and because she was the one who had the
latest news.

"I have," she said. "I've seen her."

She knew what grave surprise was in the colonel's face. But no such
thing appeared in Jeff's. He only turned to her as if she were the next
to be interrogated.

"How does she look?" he asked.

The complete vision of her stretched at ease eating fruit out of a
silver dish, as if she had arranged herself to rouse the most violent
emotions in a little seething sister, stirred Lydia to the centre. But
not for a million dollars, she reflected, in a comparison clung to
faithfully, would she tell how beautiful Esther appeared to even the
hostile eye.

"She looked," said she coldly, "perfectly well."

"Where d'you see her?" Jeff asked.

"I went over," said Lydia. Her colour was now high. She looked as if you
might select some rare martyrdom for her--quartering or gridironing
according to the oldest recipes--and you couldn't make her tell less
than the truth, because only the truth would contribute to the downfall
of Esther. "I went in without ringing, because Farvie'd been before and
they wouldn't let him in."

"Lydia!" the colonel called remindingly.

"I found h