was not in any way outwardly affected by the news of
Gloria's death. He had never loved her, she had disgraced him, and now
she was dead. There was nothing more to be said about it.

He was not altogether indifferent to the inheritance of title and
fortune which had fallen to him in his advanced middle age. But if
either influenced his character, the result was rather an increased
tendency to live his own life in scorn and defiance of society, for it
made him conscious that he should find even less opposition to his
eccentricities than in former days, when he had been relatively a poor
man without any especial claim to consideration.

Two or three days after he had arrived in Rome, he went to the
Palazzetto Borgia and sent in his card, asking to see Francesca
Campodonico. In order that she might know who he was, he wrote his name
in pencil, as she would probably not have recognized him as Lord Redin.
In this he was mistaken, for Reanda, who had heard the news, had told
her of it. She received him in the drawing-room. She looked very ill, he
thought, and was much thinner than in former times, but her manner was
not changed. They talked upon indifferent subjects, and there was a
constraint between them. Dalrymple broke through it roughly at last.

"Did you ever see my daughter after she left her husband?" he asked, as
though he were inquiring about a mere acquaintance.

Francesca started a little.

"No," she answered. "It would not have been easy."

She remembered her interview with Griggs, but resolved not to speak of
it. She would have changed the subject abruptly if he had given her
time.

"It certainly was not to be expected that you should," said Lord Redin,
thoughtfully. "When a woman chooses to break with society, she knows
perfectly well what she is doing, and one may as well leave her to
herself."

Francesca was shocked by the cynicism of the speech. The colour rose
faintly in her cheeks.

"She was your daughter," she said, reproachfully. "Since she is dead,
you should speak less cruelly of her."

"I did not speak cruelly. I merely stated a fact. She disgraced herself
and me, and her husband. The circumstance that she is dead does not
change the case, so far as I can see."

"Do you know how she died?" asked Francesca, moved to righteous anger,
and willing to pain him if she could.

He looked up suddenly, and bent his shaggy brows.

"No," he answered. "That man Griggs wrote me that she had died sud