urn has views?" she asked him, smiling, and in
her most ordinary voice.

The boy's eye brightened again with the implied permission to go on
chattering.

"I know she has! Betty's brother as good as told me that she and Mrs.
Macdonald--that's Betty's mother--she hasn't got a father--had talked it
over. And now Betty's going with them to Italy, and Aldous is going too
for ten days--and when I go to the Macdonalds Mrs. Macdonald treats me
as if I were a little chap in jackets, and Betty worries me to death.
It's sickening!"

"And how about Mr. Raeburn?"

"Oh, Aldous seems to like her very much," he said despondently. "She's
always teasing and amusing him. When she's there she never lets him
alone. She harries him out. She makes him read to her and ride with her.
She makes him discuss all sorts of things with her you'd _never_ think
Aldous would discuss--her lovers and her love affairs, and being in
love!--it's extraordinary the way she drives him round. At Easter she
and her mother were staying at the Court, and one night Betty told me
she was bored to death. It was a very smart party, but everything was so
flat and everybody was so dull. So she suddenly got up and ran across to
Aldous. 'Now look here, Mr. Aldous,' she said; 'this'll never do! you've
got to come and dance with me, and _push_ those chairs and tables
aside'--I can fancy the little stamp she'd give--'and make those other
people dance too.' And she made him--she positively made him. Aldous
declared he didn't dance, and she wouldn't have a word of it. And
presently she got to all her tricks, skirt-dancing and the rest of
it--and of course the evening went like smoke."

Marcella's eyes, unusually wide open, were somewhat intently fixed on
the speaker.

"And Mr. Raeburn liked it?" she asked in a tone that sounded
incredulous.

"Didn't he just? She told me they got regular close friends after that,
and he told her everything--oh, well," said the lad, embarrassed, and
clutching at his usual formula--"of course, I didn't mean that. And
she's fearfully flattered, you can see she is, and she tells me that she
adores him--that he's the only great man she's ever known--that I'm not
fit to black his boots, and ought to be grateful whenever he speaks to
me--and all that sort of rot. And now she's going off with them. I shall
have to shoot myself--I declare I shall!"

"Well, not yet," said Marcella, in a soothing voice; "the case isn't
clear enough. Wait till th