ould happen to me."

Meanwhile Uncle John had remembered what it was that he had come to say.
His expression was now one of puzzled distress as though he wondered how
people could be so provoking and inconsiderate.

He looked up at her. "By the way," he said, "it's doubtful whether
mother will see you this evening. You'd better go and ask, but I
expect----"

"What's happened?"

"I may as well tell you. You're bound to hear sooner or later. Your
cousin Francis is back in London. He's written a most insulting letter
to your grandmother. It's upset her very much."

"Cousin Frank?"

"Yes. He's living apparently quite near here--in some cheap rooms."

May Eversley had, long before, supplied Rachel with all details as to
that family scandal.

Rachel now only said: "Well, I'll go and see whether she would like me
to come."

For a moment she hesitated, then turned back and flung her arms again
about her uncle's neck.

"Whatever happens, Uncle John, whatever happens, we'll stick together."

"Whatever happens," he repeated, "we'll stick together."

His eyes, as they followed her, were full of tenderness--but behind the
tenderness there lurked a shadow of alarm.

CHAPTER III

LADY ADELA

"At first it seemed a little speck,
And then it seemed a mist;
It moved and moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist."

_The Ancient Mariner._

I

Lady Adela had returned from that visit to her mother's portrait with a
confused mind. She was not used to confused minds and resented them;
whenever so great an infliction came upon her she solved the confusion
by dismissing it, by leaving her mind a blank until it should take upon
itself to be clear again. To obtain that blank an interval of reflection
was necessary, and now, to-day, that had been impossible. On returning,
she had been instantly confronted by a number of people who required to
be given tea and conversation, and no time had been allowed her in which
she might resolve that her mind should be cleared.

Her confusion was that the portrait of her mother was precisely like, a
most brilliant affair, and yet wasn't like in the least. Further than
that, in some completely muddled way, it was in the back of her mind
that her mother, suddenly, this afternoon, presented herself to her as
not entirely living up to the portrait, as being less sharp, less
terrible, less magnificent. Horror lest she should in any way be
doubting her m