reason to
think so ill of me."

"I think of you," said Oliver, slowly, "only as I think of all women. I
don't suppose you are better or worse than the rest. As it happened the
whole thing seemed to die down after that separation. Romaine whisked
you off to Calcutta with him. Then he fell ill, and you had to nurse
him: you and your friend Brooke did not often meet. Then your husband
died, after a long illness, and you came here again three years ago--for
what object?"

"I had no object but that of living in a part of London which was
familiar to me--and of being amongst friends. You have no right at all
to call me to account in this way."

"So I said a few minutes ago. But you remarked that you wished me to
understand and approve of your proceedings. I am only trying to get at
your motives--if you have any."

Mrs. Romaine was tempted to say that she had no motives. But she did not
think that Oliver would believe her.

"Here you are," he went on, in his soft, slow voice, "in friendly--I
might say familiar--relations with this man again. His wife is still
living, and as bitter against him as ever, but not likely to give him
any pretext for a divorce. You cannot marry him. Why do you provoke
people to say ill-natured things about you by continuing so aimless a
friendship?"

"I don't think that any one would take the trouble of saying ill-natured
things about me, Oliver," said Mrs. Romaine, forcing a smile. "We are
too conventional, too advanced, now-a-days, for that kind of thing.
Friendship between a man and woman is by no means the abnormal and
unheard-of thing that it used to be."

"You are not so free as you think you are. You are still
good-looking--still young. You cannot afford to defy the world. And I
cannot afford to defy it either. I don't mind a reasonable amount of
laxity, but I do not want my sister to be the heroine of a scandal."

"I think you might trust me to take care of myself."

"I would not say a word if Brooke were a widower. Although I don't like
him, I acknowledge that he is the sort of big blundering brute that
suits some women. But there's no chance with him, so why should you make
a fool of yourself?"

Mrs. Romaine turned round with a fierce little gesture of contradiction,
but restrained herself, and did not speak for a minute or two.

"What do you want me to do?" she said at last, in rather a breathless
kind of way.

"Well, my dear Rosy, since you ask me, I should say that it wo