er left her, and two pale dogs
forced to run all the way, now lying under the carriage with their
tongues out, Lady Maiden had come and stayed full time; and for
three-quarters of that time she had seemed, as it were, labouring under
a sense of duty unfulfilled; for the remaining quarter Mrs. Pendyce had
laboured under a sense of duty fulfilled.

"My dear," Lady Maiden had said, having told the pale daughter to go
into the conservatory, "I'm the last person in the world to repeat
gossip, as you know; but I think it's only right to tell you that I've
been hearing things. You see, my boy Fred" (who would ultimately become
Sir Frederick Maiden) "belongs to the same club as your son George--the
Stoics. All young men belong there of course-I mean, if they're anybody.
I'm sorry to say there's no doubt about it; your son has been seen
dining at--perhaps I ought not to mention the name--Blafard's, with Mrs.
Bellew. I dare say you don't know what sort of a place Blafard's is--a
lot of little rooms where people go when they don't want to be seen.
I've never been there, of course; but I can imagine it perfectly. And
not once, but frequently. I thought I would speak to you, because I do
think it's so scandalous of her in her position."

An azalea in a blue and white pot had stood between them, and in this
plant Mrs. Pendyce buried her cheeks and eyes; but when she raised her
face her eyebrows were lifted to their utmost limit, her lips trembled
with anger.

"Oh," she said, "didn't you know? There's nothing in that; it's the
latest thing!"

For a moment Lady Maiden wavered, then duskily flushed; her temperament
and principles had recovered themselves.

"If that," she said with some dignity, "is the latest thing, I think it
is quite time we were back in town."

She rose, and as she rose, such was her unfortunate conformation, it
flashed through Mrs. Pendyce's mind 'Why was I afraid? She's only--' And
then as quickly: 'Poor woman! how can she help her legs being short?'

But when she was gone, side by side with the pale daughter, the pale
dogs once more running behind the carriage, Margery Pendyce put her hand
to her heart.

And out here amongst the bees and blossom, where the blackbirds were
improving each minute their new songs, and the air was so fainting sweet
with scents, her heart would not be stilled, but throbbed as though
danger were coming on herself; and she saw her son as a little boy again
in a dirty holland sui