. They might have been in a cottage-garden.

"My dear," Olive began, "the old cat hates you. That explains
evewything."

"She hates all Americans," said Sophy evenly.

"_So_ stupid of her! Yes; I believe she does. And she's wild with rage
because poor, dear Gerald is sickly--and won't marry. And Cecil has
married _you_ and flouted the family politics."

"Those liberal articles he wrote some years ago?"

"'Liberal'! You never read such radical stuff in your life! The
Wychcotes are the _Toriest_ Tories in England. Yes; he did that. That
was bad enough. Then he went exploring in Africa and got laurels from
the R. G. S. and chucked _that_. But you know it all----"

"Yes," said Sophy.

"He's really awfully able, Sophy--bwilliant----"

"Yes. I know."

Olive paused a moment.

"Can't you do _anything_ with him, Sophy?"

"No."

"Poor dear! Well, I suppose not. He was always as obstinate as--as ... a
Behemoth."

Sophy couldn't restrain a tired little laugh.

"Well, you know what I mean. But when one thinks of how...."

Sophy broke in on her firmly:

"Olive dear, this isn't telling me 'everything.' I want to know what
motives Lady Wychcote attributes to me."

"Really, dear--it's so disgusting of her!"

"What did she say?"

"You _will_ have it?"

"Yes ... please."

"She says you want to get rid of Cecil on account of Gerald."

Sophy was silent for some moments. Olive leaned forward and took her
hand, caressing it.

"Don't mind too much, dear," she coaxed. "Only--be on your guard."

III

The dinner was as pleasant and heterogeneous as Olive's dinners always
were. But Sophy could not rouse from the dark mood into which Olive's
confidences had thrown her. The hateful scene with her husband had
already destroyed all the gay anticipation which she had felt at the
idea of an evening in the brilliant, whimsical world that liked and
spoiled her. She had been kept at home by Cecil's humours and strange
illness all during the early spring. Of late, he had been in his gentler
frame of mind. Very "nice" to her. He had seemed to want her to have the
pleasure of this evening's gaiety. She was only twenty-seven. To be
known as a beauty in London society, and petted by some of its most
famous circle--this was very bewitching to seven-and-twenty--even with
Tragedy glowering in the background. But now all was spoiled for her.

As she went with Olive again to the latter's bedroom, while the other
women chat