ewhaven, "that
jolly little woman," the fond mother of those two "jolly little chaps,"
should have been guilty of an underhand trick, was astonishing to him.

Poor Dick had started life with a religious reverence for woman; had
carried out his brittle possession to bush-life in Australia, from
thence through two A.D.C.-ships, and, after many vicissitudes, had
brought it safely back with a large consignment of his own Burgundy to
his native land. It was still sufficiently intact--save for a chip or
two--to make a pretty wedding-present to his future wife. But it had had
a knock since he mounted the roan cob. For, unfortunately, the kind of
man who has what are called "illusions" about women is too often the man
whose discrimination lies in other directions, in fields where little
high-heeled shoes are not admitted.

Rachel had the doubtful advantage of knowing that, in spite of Dick's
shrewdness respecting shades of difference in muscatels, she and Lady
Newhaven were nevertheless ranged on the same pedestal in Dick's mind as
flawless twins of equal moral beauty. But after this particular day she
observed that Lady Newhaven had somehow slipped off the pedestal, and
that she, Rachel, had the honor of occupying it alone.

CHAPTER XVI

"Une grande passion malheureaux est un grand moyen de sagesse."

Rachel had left London precipitately after she had been the unwilling
confidante of Lady Newhaven's secret, and had taken refuge with that
friend of all perplexed souls, the Bishop of Southminster. She felt
unable to meet Hugh again without an interval of breathing-time. She
knew that if she saw much more of him he would confide in her, and she
shrank from receiving a confidence the ugliest fact of which she already
knew. Perhaps she involuntarily shrank also from fear lest he should
lower himself in her eyes by only telling her half the truth. Sad
confessions were often poured into Rachel's ears which she had known for
years. She never alluded to that knowledge, never corrected the half-lie
which accompanies so many whispered self--accusations. Confidences and
confessions are too often a means of evasion of justice--a laying of the
case for the plaintiff before a judge without allowing the defendant to
be present or to call a witness. Rachel, by dint of long experience,
which did slowly for her the work of imagination, had ceased to wonder
at the faithfully chronicled harsh words and deeds of generous souls.
Sh