rted, and turning round, looked at
her.

"I don't intend to discuss this matter," he said in his coldest voice.

"But I mean to discuss it." She met his glance with a resolution that
was not to be denied. "Is it about Deerehurst?"

"If you wish to know, it is about Deerehurst."

In his voice there was all the reserve, all the coldness of the
Englishman who has been very sorely wounded.

"And what about him?"

Quite suddenly Gore's reserve flamed to anger.

"Do you think I am going to talk of such things with a child like you?"

Nance clasped her hands on the closed doors of the cab, formulating a
sudden prayer that help might be vouchsafed her; then she spoke, with
eyes fixed steadily in front of her.

"I am not a child, Walter," she said in a very low voice. "And you
_must_ speak to me--for Clo's sake. And if you won't, then I must tell
you that I know all about her staying away from the theatre the other
night--about her having no headache, but wanting to see Deerehurst--about
her going to Carlton House Terrace at nine o'clock--I know it all,
because she told me----"

Gore drew a quick, amazed breath.

"She told you?"

She nodded. Her throat felt very dry.

"Clodagh told you that?"

"Yes. Who told _you_?"

He made no answer.

"Walter, was it Lady Frances Hope?"

"What does that matter?"

"It was Lady Frances?"

He put his hand wearily over his eyes.

"If you wish to know, it was."

"I guessed so. I always hated her. The other day, as we drove from
Paddington after seeing Clodagh off, we passed her in the Park with
Valentine Serracauld. He must have seen or guessed, or heard from
Deerehurst--and told her. He is an enemy of Clo's, too, since the time
at Tuffnell.

"Oh, Walter!" She turned suddenly, and looked at him--"Walter, have you
ever really known Clodagh?"

The pain and question in her voice broke through his wounded
self-esteem.

"Clodagh has made a fool of me, Nance," he said harshly. "She has never
been straight with me--never from the very first."

"And do you know why?"

"No; I can't pretend that I know why."

His tone was very bitter.

"Because she cares too much. She idealises too much."

Gore made a sound that might have been meant for a laugh.

"I think it is I who have idealised."

Nance straightened her small figure.

"Then you have always treated her wrongly. What Clo needs is not to be
idealised, but to be taken care of; not to be praised or blamed, but to