inner last night.
He has an impossible wife, it seems, that he can't get rid of."

"The Marchese is separated from his wife. There's no divorce in Italy, I
believe," said Susan.

"That must seem odd to an American," observed Lady Wychcote in her
dryest tone.

Susan resented this tone and the remark, but made no reply.

Her ladyship was again looking towards the garden through her
_face-a-main_.

"He's a very good-looking young man, is he not?" she said at last.

"Yes," assented Susan.

"He comes quite often I suppose?"

Susan looked straight at her.

"What would you call often?" she asked.

"Ah--you're annoyed," said Lady Wychcote coolly; "but the fact is, that
a young woman in Sophy's position can't be too careful. In England,
among people of our class, there's still a strong feeling against
divorce. As an American you could hardly realise how deep-rooted this
feeling is. I think it right to tell you of it."

"Thanks," said Susan. She turned towards the rose-garden. "If you will
come with me...." she suggested, moving forward as she spoke.

But Lady Wychcote made no move to follow her.

"By the way, do you happen to know where my grandson is?" asked she.

"With his tutor. They've ridden over to Carbeck Castle. A picnic with
Lady Towne's children and Mrs. Arundel's little boy. But if you'll
follow me, Lady Wychcote, I'll go and tell Sophy that you're here...."

"No. Wait, please," said the other quickly. "I'd like to talk a bit more
with you first."

Susan drew forward a wicker chair. Lady Wychcote seated herself, and
Susan, following her example, took up her embroidery again. But her
fingers felt very nervous. It seemed to her that she had never heard
those two in the garden talk and laugh so gaily and incessantly.

"You know Mrs. Arundel, I believe?" now enquired the other, in her
chill, brittle voice.

"Yes. She kindly helped me to get this home ready for Sophy."

"You like her?"

The question was a sneer.

"Very much," said Susan rather sharply. She flushed with vexation as she
spoke.

Lady Wychcote noticed this flush and divined its cause, but continued
with undisturbed composure.

"I'm sorry to seem captious," said she, "but I confess that I'm sorry to
hear you say so. In my opinion, Mrs. Arundel is not at all a fitting
friend for my daughter-in-law, especially in her present position."

Susan remained silent. She felt too irritated to trust herself.

"I see that you resent what I