London, neither would it be enjoyed by her mother, whom he
remembered as a woman with primitive views of domestic rectitude.
He smiled the awful smile as he took out of his pocket the envelope
containing the words his wife had written to Mr. Ffolliott, "Do not come
to the house. Meet me at Bartyon Wood." It did not take much to convince
people, if one managed things with decent forethought. The Brents, for
instance, were fond neither of her nor of Betty, and they had never
forgotten the questionable conduct of their locum tenens. Then,
suddenly, he had changed his manner and had sat down, laughing, and
drawn Rosalie to his knee and kissed her--yes, he had kissed her
and told her not to look like a little fool or act like one. Nothing
unpleasant would happen if she behaved herself. Betty had improved her
greatly, and she had grown young and pretty again. She looked quite like
a child sometimes, now that her bones were covered and she dressed well.
If she wanted to please him she could put her arms round his neck and
kiss him, as he had kissed her.

"That is what has made you look white," said Betty.

"Yes. There is something about him that sometimes makes you feel as
if the very blood in your veins turned white," answered Rosy--in a low
voice, which the next moment rose. "Don't you see--don't you see,"
she broke out, "that to displease him would be like murdering Mr.
Ffolliott--like murdering his mother and mine--and like murdering
Ughtred, because he would be killed by the shame of things--and by being
taken from me. We have loved each other so much--so much. Don't you
see?"

"I see all that rises up before you," Betty said, "and I understand your
feeling that you cannot save yourself by bringing ruin upon an innocent
man who helped you. I realise that one must have time to think it over.
But, Rosy," a sudden ring in her voice, "I tell you there is a way
out--there is a way out! The end of the misery is coming--and it will
not be what he thinks."

"You always believe----" began Rosy.

"I know," answered Betty. "I know there are some things so bad that they
cannot go on. They kill themselves through their own evil. I KNOW! I
KNOW! That is all."

CHAPTER LX

"DON'T GO ON WITH THIS"

Of these things, as of others, she had come to her solitude to think.
She looked out over the marshes scarcely seeing the wandering or resting
sheep, scarcely hearing the crying plover, because so much seemed
to confront her, an