e facts. But I need not have
come. This always happens when women interfere between men," she added,
bitterly; "you don't want us. There's a freemasonry among men. You
excuse and justify and forgive each other always."

"You persuaded him to post this."

"That is true. He might have done so, however, without persuasion. In
future, call me the busybody! I must go now. I have made you late for
d'Alchingen's dinner. What a lesson to those about to make themselves
useful! And how right you were not to get bitter! I take things too much
to heart. I must pray for flippancy. Then, perhaps, I may find no fault
with this world, or with you, or with anybody!"

"I am bitter enough--don't doubt it."

"No! no! let us assure each other that this is the best of all possible
worlds--that Beauclerk shows cleverness and good sense, that no one
tells lies, no one is treacherous, no one is unjust, malicious, or
revengeful nowadays, that friends are friends, and enemies--merely
divided in opinions! We must encourage ourselves in a cynical,
good-natured toleration of all that is abject and detestable in
mankind."

"You are too impatient, Lady Sara. You want life concentrated, like a
play, into a few acts lasting, say, three hours. Whereas, most lives
have no denouement--so far as lookers-on are concerned!"

"At last some one has been able to define me. I am 'impatient.' But you
take refuge in that profound silence which is the philosophy of the
strong; you don't struggle against the general feeling; you content
yourself by going your own gait quietly. You have pride enough to
be--nothing, and ambition enough to do--everything. Hark! what is that?
They are calling out news in the street."

"The current lie," said Orange. "We don't want to hear it."

Sara walked to the window and threw it open.

"I caught a name," she exclaimed. "It is something about Reckage ...
Listen ... Reckage!"

Above the din of the traffic, a hoarse duet rose from the street--voice
answering voice with a discordant reiteration of one phrase--"_Serious
accident to Lord Reckage! Serious accident to Lord Reckage!_"

"My God, what are they saying? What are they saying? It is my
imagination. It can't be true. I am fancying things. What are they
saying?"

Orange had already left the room and was in the road. When he returned,
he gave her the newspaper and did not attempt to speak. But he closed
the window in order to shut out, if possible, the hideous cry.

"