l--she hasn't
put that in her book?"

Lucy nodded.

"Not so that one could recognize it. Yes."

"Then never--never--never more shall Eleanor Lavish be a friend of
mine."

"So you did tell?"

"I did just happen--when I had tea with her at Rome--in the course of
conversation--"

"But Charlotte--what about the promise you gave me when we were packing?
Why did you tell Miss Lavish, when you wouldn't even let me tell
mother?"

"I will never forgive Eleanor. She has betrayed my confidence."

"Why did you tell her, though? This is a most serious thing."

Why does any one tell anything? The question is eternal, and it was not
surprising that Miss Bartlett should only sigh faintly in response. She
had done wrong--she admitted it, she only hoped that she had not done
harm; she had told Eleanor in the strictest confidence.

Lucy stamped with irritation.

"Cecil happened to read out the passage aloud to me and to Mr. Emerson;
it upset Mr. Emerson and he insulted me again. Behind Cecil's back. Ugh!
Is it possible that men are such brutes? Behind Cecil's back as we were
walking up the garden."

Miss Bartlett burst into self-accusations and regrets.

"What is to be done now? Can you tell me?"

"Oh, Lucy--I shall never forgive myself, never to my dying day. Fancy if
your prospects--"

"I know," said Lucy, wincing at the word. "I see now why you wanted me
to tell Cecil, and what you meant by 'some other source.' You knew that
you had told Miss Lavish, and that she was not reliable."

It was Miss Bartlett's turn to wince. "However," said the girl,
despising her cousin's shiftiness, "What's done's done. You have put me
in a most awkward position. How am I to get out of it?"

Miss Bartlett could not think. The days of her energy were over. She was
a visitor, not a chaperon, and a discredited visitor at that. She stood
with clasped hands while the girl worked herself into the necessary
rage.

"He must--that man must have such a setting down that he won't forget.
And who's to give it him? I can't tell mother now--owing to you. Nor
Cecil, Charlotte, owing to you. I am caught up every way. I think I
shall go mad. I have no one to help me. That's why I've sent for you.
What's wanted is a man with a whip."

Miss Bartlett agreed: one wanted a man with a whip.

"Yes--but it's no good agreeing. What's to be DONE. We women go
maundering on. What DOES a girl do when she comes across a cad?"

"I always said he was a cad, d