can't help it. But I know the nuns, and they're God's own
children. She knows it too, but, just for the sake of money, she's lying
night and day against them, and against her own conscience. There's a
devil in her. I could do a thing like that for deviltry, and I could
pull a load of money out of her backers, not for the money, but for
deviltry too, to skin a miser like McMeeter, and a dandy like Bradford.
And she's just skinning them, to the last cent."

She took a fit of laughing, then, over the embarrassment of Sister
Claire's chief supporters.

"Here's what I know about her," she went on. "The museum fakirs are
worshiping her as a wonderful success. They seem to feel by instinct
that she's one of themselves, but a genius. They have a lot of fairy
stories about her, but here's the truth: Bishop Bradford and Erastus
McMeeter are her backers. The Bishop plays high society for her, and the
bawler looks after the mob. She gets fifty per cent. of everything, and
they take all the risks. Her book, I know you read it, chock-full of
lies, thrilling lies, for the brothers and the sisters who can't read
French novels in public--well, she owns the whole thing and gets all
the receipts except a beggar's ten per cent., thrown to the publishers
... and they're the crack publishers of the town, the Hoppertons ... but
all the same they dassent let their names go on the title-page ... they
had that much shame ... so old Johnson, whom nobody knows, is printer
and publisher. The book is selling like peanuts. There's more than one
way of selling your soul to the devil."

After this surprising remark, uttered without a smile, she looked out of
the window sadly, while Curran chuckled with delight.

"It takes the woman to measure the woman," he said. Arthur was delighted
at this information.

"I wish you would learn some more about her, Mrs. Curran."

She mimicked the formal name in dumb show.

"Well, La Belle Colette, then," he said laughing. She came over to him
and sat on the arm of his chair, her beautiful eyes fixed on his with an
expression well understood by both the men.

"You are going to hunt that dreadful creature down," said she. "I won't
help you. What do you know about her motives? She may have good reason
for playing the part ... she may have suffered?"

"One must protect his own," replied Arthur grimly.

"What are we all but wolves that eat one another?--lambs by day, wolves
in the night. We all play our part----