sat very upright on her
sofa, with her head held rather high, and her hands, in their long white
gloves, quite still. And there was a moment of absolute silence in the
drawing-room. At last Miss Van Tuyn spoke again.

"I feel since last night that things are different between Alick and
me."

"Are you engaged to him--to Mr. Craven?"

"Oh, no. He hasn't asked me to be. But I want to know what you think of
him. It would help me. I like him very much. But you know far more about
men than I do."

"I doubt it, Beryl. I see scarcely anyone now. You live in Paris
surrounded by clever men and--"

"But you have had decades more of experience than I have. In fact, _you_
have been round the world and I have, so to speak, only crossed the
Channel. Do help me, Adela. I am full of hesitation and doubt, and yet
I am getting very fond of Alick. And I don't want to hurt him. I think I
hurt him a little yesterday, but--"

"Sir Seymour Portman!" said Murgatroyd's heavy voice at the door.

And the old courtier entered almost eagerly, his dark eyes shining under
the thatch of eyebrows and the white gleam of the "cauliflower."

And very soon Miss Van Tuyn went away, without the advice which she was
so anxious to have. As she walked through Berkeley Square she felt
more at ease than when she had come into it. But she was puzzled about
something. And she said to herself:

"Can she have tried monkey glands too?"

CHAPTER V

Lady Sellingworth of course understood Beryl's purpose in visiting her
so soon and in being so unreserved to her. The girl's intention was
absolutely clear to her mind horribly experienced in the cruel ways of
women. Nevertheless she believed that Beryl had spoken the truth about
what had happened at Camber.

When it began to get dark Craven had wanted to hold Beryl's hand.

Lady Sellingworth felt that she hated Beryl, hated Alick Craven. And
herself? She did not want to contemplate herself. It seemed to her that
she was fastened up with, chained to, a being she longed to ignore, to
be without knowledge of. Something of her was struggling to be away from
something else of her that was hideous. Battle, confusion, dust, dying
cries, flying, terror-stricken feet! She was aware of tumult and despair
in the silence of her beautiful house. And she was aware also of that
slow and terrible creeping of hatred, the thing that did harm to her,
that set her far away from any nobility she possessed.

She had gone abr