ly to correspond again, I should like you to
know that I have made a will bequeathing to you the fortune which
was left me, as an act of reparation, by Sir David Bright.

"I wonder why an Englishman, Sir Edmund Grosse, has made so many
attempts at seeing me? Do you know anything of him? I risk much in
the effort to write this letter to assure you of my love.

"YOUR DEVOTED MOTHER.

"P.S.--There is no need to answer the question as to Sir Edmund
Grosse."

Molly was so intensely disgusted with the miserable old woman's letter
that her first inclination was to burn it at once. She was kneeling
before the fire with that intention when Sir Edmund Grosse was
announced. She thrust the paper into her pocket, and realised in a flash
how astonishing it was that Sir Edmund should have tried to see Madame
Danterre. The only explanation that occurred to her at the moment was
that he had tried to see her mother because of his interest in herself.
She did not know that he had not been in Florence since he had known
her. But what could have started him in the notion that Miss Dexter was
Madame Danterre's child? And did he know it for certain now? That was
what she would like to find out.

Molly had on a pale green tea-gown, which fell into a succession of
almost classic folds with each rapid characteristic movement. The charm
of her face was enormously increased by its greater softness of
expression. Although she could not help wishing to please him, even in a
moment full of other emotion, she did not know how much there was to
make her successful to-day. She did not realise her own physical and
moral development during the past months.

Edmund's manner was unconsciously caressing. He had come, he told
himself--and it was the third time he had called at the flat,--simply
because he wanted to keep in touch, to get any information he could. And
he had heard rumours from Florence that Madame Danterre was becoming
steadily weaker and more unable to make any effort.

"A man told me the other day that this was the best-furnished flat in
London, and, by Jove! I rather think he was right."

"I never believe in the man who told you things, he is far too apposite;
I think his name is Harris."

Edmund smiled at the fire.

"Who was the attractive little priest I met here the other day?" he
asked.

"Little! He is as tall as you are."

"Still, one thinks of him as _u