ndour to
a beauty matured by motherhood. In the dark street, a fortnight ago,
Tarrant could hardly be said to have seen her; he gazed in wonder and
admiration.

'What has brought you here?'

'A cause quite sufficient.--This is a little house; can we talk without
being overheard?'

'You can shout if you wish to,' she answered flippantly. 'The servant is
Out, and Mary is downstairs.'

Nancy did not seat herself, and offered no seat to the visitor.

'Why have you made yourself a shop-girl?'

'I didn't know that I had.'

'I am told you go daily to some shop or other.'

'I am engaged at a place of business, but I don't.--However, that
doesn't matter. What business is it of yours?'

'Who is Mr. Luckworth Crewe?'

Nancy kept her eyes still more resolutely fronting his severe look.

'A man I used to know.'

'You don't see him now-a-days?'

'It's many months since I saw him.'

'Who, then, is the woman who has told him your whole story--with
embellishments, and who says she has had it from you yourself?'

Nancy was speechless.

'I don't say there is any such person,' Tarrant continued. 'The man may
have lied in that particular. But he has somehow got to know a good deal
about you,--where and when your child was born, where it is now, where
I live, and so on. And all this he has reported to your aunt, Mrs.
Damerel.'

'To her?--How do you know?'

For answer he held out Mrs. Damerel's note of invitation, then added:

'I have been with her this afternoon. She is coming to offer you her
protection against the scoundrel who has ruined you, and who is now
living upon you.'

'What do you mean?'

'That's the form the story has taken, either in Mr. Crewe's mind, or in
that of the woman who told it to him.'

'Don't they know that I am married?'

'Evidently not.'

'And they think you--are having money from me?'

'That's how they explain your taking a place in a shop.'

Nancy laughed, and laughed again.

'How ridiculous!'

'I'm glad you can get amusement out of it. Perhaps you can suggest how
the joke began?'

She moved a few steps, then turned again to him.

'Yes, I know who the woman must be. It's Beatrice French.'

'A bosom friend of yours, of course.'

'Nothing of the kind.'

'But you have taken her into your confidence--up to a certain point?'

'Yes, I have told her. And she told Mr. Crewe? I understand that. Well,
what does it matter?'

Tarrant was at a loss to interpret this singular lev