he paper with the pen lifted, frowning
painfully and with a look of fear in her eyes. Then her face hardened in
an expression of white resolution, and she wrote:

"I know that he ought to be in prison. He is beyond the pale. You must
never be seen with him again. I have said nothing of this to anyone. Mr.
Craven has not a suspicion of it. Nor has anyone else whom we know. Drop
that man at once. I don't think he will ask you for your reason. His
not doing so will help to prove to you that I am telling you the
truth.--Yours sincerely,

"ADELA SELLINGWORTH."

When she had finished this letter Lady Sellingworth read it over
carefully twice, then put it into an envelope and wrote on the envelope
Beryl's address, and in the corner "strictly private." But having done
this she did not fasten the envelope, though she lit a red candle that
was on the table and took up a stick of sealing-wax. Again hesitation
seized her.

The written word remains. Might it not be very dangerous to send this
letter? Suppose Beryl did show it to that man who called himself Nicolas
Arabian? He might--it was improbable, but he might--bring an action for
libel against the writer. Lady Sellingworth sickened as she thought of
that, and rapidly she imagined a hideous scandal, all London talking of
her, the Law Courts, herself in the witness-box, cross-examination. What
evidence could she give to prove that the accusation she had written was
true?

But surely Beryl would not show the letter. It would be dishonourable
to show it, and though she could be very cruel Lady Sellingworth did not
believe that Beryl was a dishonourable girl. But if she was in love with
that man? If she was under his influence? Women in love, women under a
spell, are capable of doing extraordinary things. Lady Sellingworth knew
that only too well. She remembered her own madnesses, the madnesses
of women she had known, women of the "old guard." And Arabian had
fascination. She had felt it long ago. And Beryl was young and had
wildness in her.

It might be very dangerous to send that letter.

But if she did not send it, what was she going to do? She could not
leave things as they were, could not just hold her peace. To do
that would be infamous. And she could not be infamous. She felt the
obligation of age. Beryl had been cruel to her, but she could not leave
the girl in ignorance of the character of Arabian. If she did something
horrible might happen, would almost certai