th it. Her theory has been, as you from the first
so clearly saw, that she'd get in ahead. She swears to me that though
the 'bar' is too cruel she wears when she's alone what she has been
ordered to wear. But when the deuce is she alone? It's herself of course
that she has swindled worst: she has put herself off, so insanely
that even her vanity but half accounts for it, with little inadequate
concessions, little false measures and preposterous evasions and
childish hopes. Her great terror is now that Iffield, who already has
suspicions, who has found out her pince-nez but whom she has beguiled
with some unblushing hocus-pocus, may discover the dreadful facts; and
the essence of what she wanted this morning was in that interest to
square me, to get me to deny indignantly and authoritatively (for isn't
she my 'favourite sitter'?) that she has anything whatever the matter
with any part of her. She sobbed, she 'went on,' she entreated; after we
got talking her extraordinary nerve left her and she showed me what she
has been through--showed me also all her terror of the harm I could do
her. 'Wait till I'm married! wait till I'm married!' She took hold of
me, she almost sank on her knees. It seems to me highly immoral, one's
participation in her fraud; but there's no doubt that she _must_ be
married: I don't know what I don't see behind it! Therefore," I wound
up, "Dawling must keep his hands off."

Mrs. Meldrum had held her breath; she exhaled a long moan. "Well, that's
exactly what I came here to tell him."

"Then here he is." Our unconscious host had just opened the door.
Immensely startled at finding us he turned a frightened look from one
to the other, as if to guess what disaster we were there to announce or
avert.

Mrs. Meldrum, on the spot, was all gaiety. "I've come to return your
sweet visit. Ah," she laughed, "I mean to keep up the acquaintance!"

"Do--do," he murmured mechanically and absently, continuing to look at
us. Then abruptly he broke out: "He's going to marry her."

I was surprised. "You already know?"

He had had in his hand an evening newspaper; he tossed it down on the
table. "It's in that."

"Published--already?" I was still more surprised.

"Oh, Flora can't keep a secret!" Mrs. Meldrum humorously declared. She
went up to poor Dawling and laid a motherly hand upon him. "It's all
right--it's just as it ought to be: don't think about her ever any
more." Then as he met this adjuration with a di