is not with me you would care to be, but
with _him_. It is not my kiss of friendship that would console you, but
his kiss of passion that would charm you. . . . Go to him, and leave me to
die.'

'Was this insanity?' And then, forgetful of the abuse that was being
showered upon her, Alice said:

'Cecilia dear, listen; I'll forgive the language you have used toward
me, for I know you do not know what you are saying. You must be ill . . .
you cannot be in your right senses to-day, or you would not speak like
that.'

'You would soothe me, but you little dream of the poison you are
dropping on my wounds. You never understood, you are too far removed
from me in thought and feeling ever to understand--no, your spirituality
is only a delusion; you are no better at heart than May Gould. It is the
same thing: one seeks a husband, another gratifies herself with a lover.
It is the same thing--where's the difference? It is animal passion all
the same. And that letter is full of it--it must be--I am sure it is.'

'You are very insulting, Cecilia. Where have you thrown my letter?'

The letter had fallen beneath the table. Alice made a movement towards
it, but, overcome by mad rage, Cecilia caught it up and threw it into
the fire. Alice rescued her letter, and then, her face full of stern
indignation, she said:

'I think, Cecilia, you had better leave my room, and before you come to
see me again, I shall expect to receive a written apology for the
outrageous way you have behaved.'

In a few days came a humble and penitent letter; Cecilia returned, her
eyes full of tears, and begged to be forgiven; the girls resumed their
friendship, but both were conscious that it was neither so bright nor so
communicative as in the olden days.

XXII

'Something has happened to my learned daughter,' said Mr. Barton, and he
continued his thumb-nail sketch on the tablecloth. 'What is it?' he
added indolently.

Alice passed the cheque and the memorandum across the table. 'Three
pounds for three articles contributed to the ---- during the month of
April.'

'You don't mean to say, Alice, you got three pounds for your writing?'
said Mrs. Barton.

'Yes, mother, I have, and I hope to make ten pounds next month. Mr.
Harding says he can get me lots of work.'

'So my lady then, with all her shy ways, knows how to make use of a man
as well as any of us.'

Mrs. Barton did not willingly wound. She saw life from the point of view
of makin