have
to talk of."

"But it's not the scandal I'm thinking of," Mrs. Hilary went on, "though,
God knows, that's bad enough--I'm thankful Father died when he did and
was spared it--but the thing itself. The awful, awful thing itself. Have
you no shame, Nan?"

"Not much."

"For all our sakes. Not for mine--I know you don't care a rap for
that--but for Neville, whom you do profess to love...."

"I should think we might leave Neville out of it. She's shown no signs of
believing any story about me."

"Well, she does believe it, you may depend upon it. No one could help it.
People write from here saying it's an open fact."

"People here can't have much to put in their letters."

"Oh, they'll make room for gossip. People always will. Always. But I'm
not going to dwell on that side of things, because I know you don't care
what anyone says. It's the _wrongness_ of it.... A married man.... Even
if his wife divorces him! It would be in the papers.... And if she
doesn't you can't ever marry him.... Do you care for the man?"

"What man?"

"Don't quibble. Stephen Lumley, of course."

"Stephen Lumley is a friend of mine. I'm fond of him."

"I don't believe you do love him. I believe it's all recklessness and
perversity. Lawlessness. That's what Mr. Cradock said."

"Mr. Cradock?" Nan's eyebrows went up.

Mrs. Hilary flushed a brighter scarlet. The colour kept running over her
face and going back again, all the time she was talking.

"Your psycho-analyst doctor," said Nan, and her voice was a little harder
and cooler than before. "I suppose you had an interesting conversation
with him about me."

"I have to tell him everything," Mrs. Hilary stammered. "It's part
of the course. I did consult him about you. I'm not ashamed of it. He
understands about these things. He's not an ordinary man."

"This is very interesting." Nan lit another cigarette. "It seems that
I've been a boon all round as a town topic--to London, to Rome and to St.
Mary's Bay.... Well, what did he advise about me?"

Mrs. Hilary remembered vaguely and in part, but did not think it would be
profitable just now to tell Nan.

"We have to be very wise about this," she said, collecting herself. "Very
wise and firm. Lawlessness.... I wonder if you remember, Nan, throwing
your shoes at my head when you were three?"

"No. But I can quite believe I did. It was the sort of thing I used to
do."

"Think back, Nan. What is the first act of naughtiness and diso