ved to clear the ground
thoroughly for Mrs. Devar's benefit; "your French ally is resorting to
the methods of the blackmailer. If you are wise you will cut yourself
entirely adrift from him, and warn your son to follow your example. I
shall deal with Monsieur Marigny--have no doubt on that score--and if
you wish me to forget certain discreditable incidents that have
happened since we left London you will respect my earnest request
that Miss Vanrenen shall not be told anything about me by you. I mean
to choose my own time and place for the necessary explanations. They
concern none but Miss Vanrenen and myself, in the first instance, and
her father and mine, in the second. I have observed that you can be a
shrewd woman when it serves your interests, Mrs. Devar, and now you
have an opportunity of adding discretion to shrewdness. I take it you
are asking for my advice. It is simple and to the point. Enjoy
yourself, cease acting as a matrimonial agent, and leave the rest to
me."

The residents in the hotel were gathering in the veranda, as the
luncheon hour was approaching, so Mrs. Devar could not press him to be
more explicit. In the privacy of her own room she read Marigny's
letter. Then she learnt why Cynthia's father had hurried across the
Channel, for the Frenchman had not scrupled to warn him that his
presence was imperative if he would save his daughter from a rogue who
had replaced the confidential Simmonds as chauffeur.

Forthwith, Mrs. Devar became more dazed than ever. She felt that she
must confide in someone, so she wrote a full account of events at
Symon's Yat to her son. It was the worst possible thing she could have
done. Unconsciously--for she was now anxious to help instead of
hindering Medenham's wooing--some of the gall in her nature distilled
itself into words. She dwelt on the river episode with all the sly
rancor of the inveterate scandalmonger. She was really striving to
depict her own confusion of ideas when stunned by the discovery of
Medenham's position, but she only succeeded in stringing together a
series of ill-natured innuendoes. Sandwiched between each paragraph of
the story were the true gossip's catchwords--thus: "What was I to
think?" "What would people say if they knew?" "My dear, just picture
your mother's predicament when midnight struck, and there was no
news!" "Of course, one makes allowances for an American girl," and the
rest.

Though this soured woman was a ready letter-writer,