"It's no use. I was a fool to come. We must go back. I always told
Felicia it would be no use. We'd better not have come. I'll not have papa
tormented!"

While she was speaking a footman entered, bringing a telegram for
Victoria. It was from Tatham in London.

"Have just seen lawyers. They are of opinion we could not fail in
application for proper allowance and provision for both mother and
daughter. Hope you will persuade Mrs. Melrose to let us begin proceedings
at once. Very sorry for your telegram this morning, but only what I
expected."

Victoria read the message to her guest, and then did her best to urge
boldness--an immediate stroke. But Netta shook her head despairingly. She
could not and would not have her father harassed. Mr. Melrose would do
anything--bribe anybody--to get his way. They would have the police
coming, and dragging her father to prison. It was not to be thought of.

Victoria tried gently to investigate what skeleton might be lying in the
Smeath closet, whereof Mr. Melrose possessed such very useful
information. But Netta held her tongue. "Papa had been very unfortunate,
and the Government would like to put him in prison if they could. Edmund
had been always so cruel to him." Beyond this Victoria could not get.

But the determination of the frail, faded woman was unshakable, although
she glanced nervously at her daughter from time to time, as if much more
in dread of her opinion than of Victoria's.

Felicia, who had listened in silence to the conversation between her
mother and Victoria, turned round from the window in which she was
staring, as soon as Lady Tatham seemed to be finally worsted.

"Mother, you promised to stay here till Christmas!"

The voice was imperious. Felicia's manner to her mother indeed was often
of an unfilial sharpness, and Victoria was already meditating some gentle
discipline on the point.

"Oh, no, Felicia!" said Netta, helplessly, "not till Christmas." Then,
remembering herself, she turned toward her hostess: "It's so kind of you,
I'm sure."

"Yes, till Christmas!" repeated Felicia. "You know grandpapa's no worse.
You know," the girl flushed suddenly a bright crimson, "Lord Tatham sent
him money--and he's quite comfortable. _I_ am not going home just yet! I
am not going back to Italy--till--I have seen my father!"

She faced round upon Victoria and her mother, her hands on her hips, her
breath fluttering.

"Felicia!" cried her mother, "you can't. I tell