out her mother, and then persuade Ethel to tell
you?"

"Can't take _Ethel_ into our confidence," said Oliver with a disparaging
emphasis upon the name. "She is such a little fool." And then he began
to roll a cigarette for himself.

Mrs. Romaine watched him thoughtfully for a minute or two. "Noll," she
said at length, "I thought you were really fond of Ethel?"

Oliver's eyes were fixed upon the cigarette that he was now lighting,
and, perhaps, that was the reason why he did not answer for a minute or
two. At last, he said, in his soft, drawling way--

"I am very fond of Ethel. And especially of the twenty thousand pounds
that her uncle left her."

"Ethel Kenyon is handsome enough to be loved for something beside her
money."

"Handsome? Oh, she's good-looking enough: but she's not exactly to my
taste. A little too showy, too abrupt for me. Personally I like a
softer, quieter woman; but as a rule the women that I really admire
haven't got twenty thousand pounds."

"I know who would suit you," said Mrs. Romaine, leaning forward and
speaking in a very low voice--"Lesley Brooke."

"What is her fortune? If it's a case of her face is her fortune, she
really won't do for me, Rosy, however suitable she might be in other
respects."

"But," said Mrs. Romaine, eagerly, "she is sure to have plenty of money.
Her father is well off--better off than people know--and would probably
settle a considerable sum upon her; then think of the Courtleroys--there
is a fair amount of wealth in that family, surely----"

"Which they would be so very likely to give her if she married me," said
her brother, with irony. "Moonshine, my dear. Do you think that Lady
Alice would allow her daughter to marry your brother?--knowing what she
does, and hating you as she does, would she like to be connected with
you by marriage?"

"That is exactly why I wish that you would marry her," said Mrs.
Romaine, almost below her breath. "Think of the triumph for me!"

Her eyes glowed, and she breathed more quickly as she spoke. "That woman
scorned me--gloated over my sorrow and my love," she said; "she dared to
reproach me for what she called my want of modesty--my want of womanly
feeling, and--oh, I cannot tell you what she said! But this I know, that
if I could reach her through her daughter or her husband, and stab her
to the heart as she once stabbed me, the dearest wish of my life would
be fulfilled!"

"Women are always vindictive," said Oliver, phi