t a charming hostess Mrs. Le Geyt makes," the painter observed to
me, after lunch. "Such tact! Such discrimination!... AND, what a devoted
stepmother!"

"She is one of the local secretaries of the Society for the Prevention
of Cruelty to Children," I said, drily.

"And charity begins at home," Hilda Wade added, in a significant aside.

We walked home together as far as Stanhope Gate. Our sense of doom
oppressed us. "And yet," I said, turning to her, as we left the
doorstep, "I don't doubt Mrs. Le Geyt really believes she IS a model
stepmother!"

"Of course she believes it," my witch answered. "She has no more doubt
about that than about anything else. Doubts are not in her line. She
does everything exactly as it ought to be done--who should know, if not
she?--and therefore she is never afraid of criticism. Hardening, indeed!
that poor slender, tender, shrinking little Ettie! A frail exotic. She
would harden her into a skeleton if she had her way. Nothing's much
harder than a skeleton, I suppose, except Mrs. Le Geyt's manner of
training one."

"I should be sorry to think," I broke in, "that that sweet little
floating thistle-down of a child I once knew was to be done to death by
her."

"Oh, as for that, she will NOT be done to death," Hilda answered, in her
confident way. "Mrs. Le Geyt won't live long enough."

I started. "You think not?"

"I don't think, I am sure of it. We are at the fifth act now. I watched
Mr. Le Geyt closely all through lunch, and I'm more confident than ever
that the end is coming. He is temporarily crushed; but he is like steam
in a boiler, seething, seething, seething. One day she will sit on the
safety-valve, and the explosion will come. When it comes"--she raised
aloft one quick hand in the air as if striking a dagger home--"good-bye
to her!"

For the next few months I saw much of Le Geyt; and the more I saw of
him, the more I saw that my witch's prognosis was essentially correct.
They never quarrelled; but Mrs. Le Geyt, in her unobtrusive way, held a
quiet hand over her husband which became increasingly apparent. In the
midst of her fancy-work (those busy fingers were never idle) she kept
her eyes well fixed on him. Now and again I saw him glance at his
motherless girls with what looked like a tender, protecting regret;
especially when "Clara" had been most openly drilling them; but he dared
not interfere. She was crushing their spirit, as she was crushing their
father's--and all,