, for a moment, of Lord Lackington. That
finished it."

"Ah!" said Lady Henry, with a nod. "Yes, that likeness is extraordinary.
Isn't it amazing that that foolish old man has never perceived it?"

"He knows nothing?"

"Oh, nothing! Nobody does. However, that'll do presently. But Lord
Lackington comes here, mumbles about his music and his water-colors, and
his flirtations--seventy-four, if you please, last birthday!--talks
about himself endlessly to Julie or to me--whoever comes handy--and
never has an inkling, an idea."

"And she?"

"Oh, _she_ knows. I should rather think she does." And Lady Henry pushed
away her coffee-cup with the ill-suppressed vehemence which any mention
of her companion seemed to produce in her. "Well, now, I suppose you'd
like to hear the story."

"Wait a minute. It'll surprise you to hear that I not only knew this
lady's mother and father, but that I've seen her, herself, before."

"You?" Lady Henry looked incredulous.

"I never told you of my visit to that _menage_, four-and-twenty years
ago?"

"Never, that I remember. But if you had I should have forgotten. What
did they matter to me then? I myself only saw Lady Rose once, so far as
I remember, before she misconducted herself. And afterwards--well, one
doesn't trouble one's self about the women that have gone under."

Something lightened behind Sir Wilfrid's straw-colored lashes. He bent
over his coffee-cup and daintily knocked off the end of his cigarette
with a beringed little finger.

"The women who have--not been able to pull up?"

Lady Henry paused.

"If you like to put it so," she said, at last. Sir Wilfrid did not raise
his eyes. Lady Henry took up her strongest glasses from the table and
put them on. But it was pitifully evident that even so equipped she saw
but little, and that her strong nature fretted perpetually against the
physical infirmity that teased it. Nevertheless, some unspoken
communication passed between them, and Sir Wilfrid knew that he had
effectually held up a protecting hand for Lady Rose.

"Well, let me tell you my tale first," he said; and gave the little
reminiscence in full. When he described the child, Lady Henry
listened eagerly.

"Hm," she said, when he came to an end; "she was jealous, you say, of
her mother's attentions to you? She watched you, and in the end she took
possession of you? Much the same creature, apparently, then as now."

"No moral, please, till the tale is done," said Sir