"Come to my room, Kate," whispered Lady Scapegrace, as we lighted our
hand-candles--"you can go the short way through the boudoir--I want to
speak a word with you."

CHAPTER XXII.

"Kate," said Lady Scapegrace, as she shut the door of her snug
dressing-room and wheeled an easy-chair before the fire for my
benefit--"Kate, you're a foolish girl; it strikes me you are playing a
dangerous game, and playing it all wrong, moreover. I can see more
than you think. Do you know the difference between real diamonds and
paste? Not you, you little goose. But you _shall_, if I can teach it
you. Kate, have you ever heard me talked about? Did you ever hear any
good of me?" I was forced to answer both questions--the former in the
affirmative, the latter in the negative.

"Do you believe I'm as bad as they give me credit for?" proceeded her
ladyship.

"No, no!" I replied, taking her hand and kissing it; for I really
liked Lady Scapegrace. "Let them say what they will, I won't believe
anything bad of you at all."

"I have had a strange life, Kate," said she; "and perhaps not quite
fair play. Well, the worst is over now, at any rate. I don't _much_
care how short the remainder may be. Kate, did you ever hear I was a
murderess?"

"No, no!" I repeated, taking her hand once more; for I was shocked and
half frightened at the expression of her countenance. "I never heard
anybody say more than that you were _odd_, and a flirt, and perhaps
not very much attached to Sir Guy."

Lady Scapegrace shuddered. "I owe you a great deal, Kate Coventry,"
she resumed--"a great deal more than I can ever hope to repay. I
consider that you once saved my life, but of that I make small
account; you have done me a far greater kindness--you have interested
me; you have made me fond of you; you have taught me to feel like a
_woman_ again. The least I can do in return is to watch you and warn
you--to show you the rock on which I made shipwreck, and beseech you
to avoid it. Kate, you've heard of my Cousin Latimer; would you like
to see his picture?"

Lady Scapegrace rose, walked to a small cabinet, unlocked it, and
produced a miniature, which she placed in my hands. If the painter had
not flattered him, Cousin Latimer was indeed a handsome boy. There was
genius on his wide, bold forehead, and resolution in his firm,
well-cut mouth; his large dark eyes betrayed strong passions and keen
intelligence, whilst high birth was stamped on his fine feature