rette, drawing in fitful puffs of smoke,
avoiding with elaborate carelessness any observation of her companion's
manner.

Then, as if some psychological crisis for which she was waiting had
been achieved, she altered her position and her expression; and,
turning, laid her hand upon Clodagh's.

"Dear Mrs. Milbanke," she said, "I am glad all this has happened; I am
glad we have met. You are at a moment in your life when you need a
friend--a friend who understands----"

Her fingers tightened upon Clodagh's in a warm, sympathetic pressure.

"You are young; you are free; you have the whole world at your feet.
Don't spoil your life by taking it too seriously!

"When I was your age, or only a little older than you, I was left a
widow--as you have been left; but I was unlike you in one particular: I
had a very wise and far-seeing mother to help me with her advice. Do
you know what her advice was?"

Clodagh sat silent.

"It was comprised in one sentence. 'Avoid scandal, but fly from
sentiment!' Do you see all the wisdom in that advice to a woman who has
just become her own mistress?"

Still Clodagh was silent, filled by a sense of uncertainty, of
loneliness, of fear. She waited for Lady Frances's explanation with the
numb sense of helplessness that is born of ignorance.

"Of course, I may be wrong," the strong, reliant voice went on; "but I
feel you are in need of just such counsel. You are emotional; you are
an idealist; you are coming out into life expecting it to be a fairy
tale--and it is not a fairy tale. It is a realistic story--sometimes a
long one, sometimes a short one, but always realistic. Take my advice!
Make the best of it as it is! Don't break your heart because there are
no dragons, or castles, or princes."

She paused at last; and at last Clodagh spoke.

"You are very kind--very good. But I don't see what it all has to do
with me."

With a frank, almost an affectionate gesture, Lady Frances took both
her hands, and, looking into her face, spoke the words for which she
had so carefully prepared the way.

"If what I am going to say hurts you, you must forgive me. I feel such
centuries older than you, that I can risk a great deal. Don't spoil
your life, don't throw away your pleasure, because of one moral
lecture! It isn't worth while. I know what I am saying. People like
Walter Gore are reprehensible. They take themselves so seriously, that
sometimes other people make the mistake of taking them ser