You assume a great deal, Adela."

"Do you know anything about him?"

"Suppose I were to ask you questions in my turn?"

"Questions? But I have told you--"

"Yes, you have told me certain things, but you have explained nothing.
You seem to expect everything from me. Am I not to expect anything from
you?"

"Anything! But what?"

"An explanation, surely."

Lady Sellingworth was silent. She was still standing. The two spots of
red still glowed in her white face. Her eyes looked like the eyes of one
who was in dread. They had lost their usual expression of self-command,
and resembled the eyes of a creature being hunted. Miss Van Tuyn saw
that and wondered. A fierce animosity woke in her and made her more
obstinate, more determined to get at the truth of this mystery. She
would not leave this house until light was given to her. She had a
strong will. It was now fully roused, and she was ready to pit it
against Adela's will. And she had another weapon in her armoury. She was
now very angry, with an anger which she did not fully understand,
and which was made up of several elements. One of these elements was
certainly passion. This anger rendered her merciless.

"Well, Adela?" she said at length, as Lady Sellingworth did not speak.

"What is it you want, Beryl?" said Lady Sellingworth, looking into her
eyes and then quickly away.

"But I have told you--an explanation."

She unfolded the letter slowly.

"I can't give you one. I have told you the truth, and I ask you to
accept it, and I beg, I implore you to act upon it."

"Suppose I were to make a violent attack on one of your friends, on Mr.
Craven for instance?"

"Please don't bracket Mr. Craven and that man together!" said Lady
Sellingworth sharply.

Beryl Van Tuyn flushed with anger.

"But I do!" she said. "I choose to do that for the sake of argument."

"Two such men have nothing in common, nothing! One is a gentleman, the
other is a blackguard!"

Miss Van Tuyn thought of the previous evening, when Lady Sellingworth
had dined with Craven while she had dined with Arabian, and she was
stung to the quick.

"I cannot allow you to speak like this of a friend of mine without an
explanation," she said bitterly. "And now"--she spoke more hurriedly, as
if fearing to be interrupted--"I will finish what I was going to say, if
you will allow me. Suppose I were to make an attack on, say, Mr. Craven,
to tell you that I happened to know he was thoroughly bad, imm