iously too;
and then things go wrong."

Clodagh's face became a shade paler.

"I--I am stupid," she said. "I don't seem to understand."

"My dear! It is so hard to say it bluntly."

"Please say it bluntly."

For an instant the older woman hesitated before the coldness of
Clodagh's tone; but the next, she took the opening offered her.

"You are deliberately turning away from the best in life because some
one, in a moment of enthusiasm, preached you a sermon. You make the
mistake of thinking that Walter Gore did something unusual when he
warned you against cards and roulette--against Lord Deerehurst and Val
Serracauld and me--whereas, Walter was born to preach!"

Clodagh's lips parted. Lady Frances had justified herself. Gore _had_
spoken of that last interview. But why? And how?

"Lady Frances," she said very quietly, "why did Sir Walter Gore tell
you all these things?"

Lady Frances freed the hands she had continued to hold.

"Oh, we are old friends. He tells me many things. I fought more than
one battle for you, while you were in Venice--and afterwards."

"For me? After I left Venice?"

"Oh, many battles. Walter is so extreme in his judgments of men and
things. I lose patience with him sometimes."

"And what was Sir Walter Gore's judgment of me--after I left Venice?"

Lady Frances gave a little deprecating laugh.

"Would that be quite fair?"

"Yes, I think so, if I wish to know."

The older woman took a fresh cigarette from the case beside her.

"And you won't be offended?"

"I won't be offended." Clodagh's voice sounded a little dry.

"Well, then--oh, really, it's very stupid! Perhaps I'd better not."

Clodagh rose quietly from the divan and walked to the mantelpiece.

"Please tell me," she said.

At her tone, her hostess ceased to dally. She struck a match and raised
the cigarette to her lips.

"Well," she said, with another little apologetic laugh, "I think Walter
has always imagined you a very pretty, very fascinating--little fool!"

There was another silence--very short but very tense. Lady Frances laid
down her cigarette unlighted, and blew out the match.

"Mrs. Milbanke, you don't mind?"

Clodagh laughed--suddenly and almost loudly.

"Mind? Mind? Why _should_ I mind?"

Had her denial been a shade less intense, its steadiness might have
deceived her companion; as it was, the faintest flickering smile
touched her lips, as she also rose and came slowly forward.

"My dear child!