on of yours?"

"He is my brother-in-law," said Margaret, rather startled at seeing the
point to which she had led the conversation. But she felt a strong
sympathy for Mr. Bellingham, and she was glad to be able to speak on the
subject to any one. She stood so much in need of advice; and, after all,
if the story was in the papers it was public property by this time. Mr.
Bellingham was a perfect diplomatist, and, being deeply interested, he
had soon learned all the details of the case by heart.

"It is very distressing," he said gravely. But that was all. Margaret
had had some faint idea that he might offer to help her--it was absurd,
of course--or at least that he might give her some good advice. But that
was not Mr. Bellingham's way of doing things. If he intended to do
anything, the last thing he would think of would be to tell her of his
intention. He led the conversation away, and having rounded it neatly
with a couple of anecdotes of her grandmother, he rose to go, pleading
an engagement. He really had so many appointments in a day that he
seldom kept more than half of them, and his excuse was no polite
invention. He bowed himself out, and when he was gone Margaret felt as
though she had lost a friend.

She wearied of the day--so long, so hot, and so unfortunate. She tried a
book, and then she tried to write a letter, and then she tried to think
again. It seemed to her that there was so little to think about, for she
had a hopeless helpless consciousness that there was nothing to be done
that she could do. She might have written to her friends in
Petersburg--of course she would do that, and make every possible
representation. But all that seemed infinitely far off, and could be
done as well to-morrow as to-day. At last Lady Victoria came back, and
at sight of her Margaret resolved to confide in her likewise. She had so
much common sense, and always seemed able to get at the truth.
Therefore, in the afternoon Margaret monopolised Lady Victoria and
carried her off, and they sat together with their work by the open
window, and the Countess was "not at home."

In truth, a woman of the world in trouble of any kind could not do
better than confide in Lady Victoria. She is so frank and honest that
when you talk to her your trouble seems to grow small and your heart
big. She has not a great deal of intellect; but, then, she has a great
deal of common sense. Common sense is, generally speaking, merely a
dislike of compli