l, only don't let him take it up.
Let it be only between you and me," Mr. Mitchett pleaded; "keep him
quiet--don't let him speak to me." He appeared to convey with his
pleasant extravagance that Edward looked dangerous, and he went on with
a rigour of levity: "It must be OUR little quarrel."

There were different ways of meeting such a tone, but Mrs. Brookenham's
choice was remarkably prompt. "I don't think I quite understand what
dreadful joke you may be making, but I dare say if you HAD let Harold
borrow you'd have another manner, and I was at any rate determined to
have the question out with you."

"Let us always have everything out--that's quite my own idea. It's you,"
said Mr. Mitchett, "who are by no means always so frank with me as I
recognise--oh, I do THAT!--what it must have cost you to be over this
little question of Harold. There's one thing, Mrs. Brook, you do dodge."

"What do I ever dodge, dear Mitchy?" Mrs. Brook quite tenderly asked.

"Why, when I ask you about your other child you're off like a frightened
fawn. When have you ever, on my doing so, said 'my darling Mitchy,
I'll ring for her to be asked to come down so that you can see her for
yourself'--when have you ever said anything like that?"

"I see," Mrs. Brookenham mused; "you think I sacrifice her. You're very
interesting among you all, and I've certainly a delightful circle. The
Duchess has just been letting me have it most remarkably hot, and as
she's presently coming back you'll be able to join forces with her."

Mitchy looked a little at a loss. "On the subject of your sacrifice--"

"Of my innocent and helpless, yet somehow at the same time, as a
consequence of my cynicism, dreadfully damaged and depraved daughter."
She took in for an instant the slight bewilderment against which, as a
result of her speech, even so expert an intelligence as Mr. Mitchett's
had not been proof; then with a small jerk of her head at the other side
of the room made the quickest of transitions. "What IS there between her
and him?"

Mitchy wondered at the other two. "Between Edward and the girl?"

"Don't talk nonsense. Between Petherton and Jane."

Mitchy could only stare, and the wide noonday light of his regard was at
such moments really the redemption of his ugliness. "What 'is' there? Is
there anything?"

"It's too beautiful," Mrs. Brookenham appreciatively sighed, "your
relation with him! You won't compromise him."

"It would be nicer of me," Mitc