ble was going to happen. We know
all about it now, but that doesn't count. Stories, true or false,
should be told consecutively.

CHAPTER XXII

IT WAS THAT MRS. NIGHTINGALE'S FAULT. A SATISFACTORY CHAP, GERRY! A
TELEGRAM AND A CLOUD. BRONCHITIS AND ASTHMA AND FOG. SALLY GOES TO
MAYFAIR. THE OLD SOLDIER HAS NOTICE TO QUIT

The most deeply-rooted instinct of mankind is the one that prompts
it to lay the blame on some one else. Mankind includes womankind, and
woman includes (for we believe she is still living) the Dragon of
the last chapter. As it did not occur to this good lady that her own
attitude of estrangement from Laetitia had anything to answer for in the
rash and premature development of the latter's love-affair, she cast
about for a scapegoat, and found one in the person of Rosalind Fenwick.
Some one had schemed the whole business, clearly, and who else could
it be but that woman? Of course, Laetitia herself was simply the victim
of a plot--she was young and inexperienced; people's daughters are.

But nothing in the nefarious business had escaped the watchful eye of
the Dragon. At the time of the very first appearance of "that Mrs.
Nightingale" on the scene she had pointed out her insidious character,
and forewarned North and North-west Kensington of what was to be
expected from a person of her antecedents. It was true no one knew
anything about these latter; but, then, that was exactly the point.

"It's useless attempting to find excuses for that woman. Clarissa,"
she had said. "It's always the same story with people of that sort.
Whenever they have no proper introduction, they always turn out
schemers and matchmakers. I detected her, and said so at once. It is
easy for your father to pretend he has forgotten. He always does. My
consolation is that I did my duty. And then, of course, it all turns
out as I said. Anybody could have known what sort of person she was
with half an eye!"

"And what sort of person is she?" asked Clarissa coldly. She had not
forgotten the vaccination from the calf.

"The sort of person you would expect. Unless, Clarissa, you are going
to take a leaf out of your father's book, and make believe you do not
understand what is transparently on the surface. What interest can
Major Roper have in inventing the story, I should like to know?"

"How does he come to know so much about it? Who told him?"

"Who _told_ him? Why, of course that very old gentleman--what's his
name