nes--so horribly good, I feel that I can't tell you! But, Agnes,
whatever happens, you must pity, and--and, if you can, understand me."

It was now painfully clear to Agnes Barlow that Teresa had come that day
intending to tell her once devoted friend of the wicked thing she meant
to do; and more than once pretty and good Mrs. Barlow had asked herself
uneasily whether she could have done anything to stop Teresa on her
downward course.

But no; Agnes felt her conscience clear. How would it have been possible
for her even to discuss with Teresa so shameful a possibility as that of
a woman leaving her husband with another man?

Agnes thought of the two sinners with a touch of fascinated curiosity.
They were said to be in Paris, and Teresa was probably having a very
good time--a wildly amusing, exciting time.

She even told herself, did this pretty, happy, fortunate young married
woman, that it was strange, and not very fair, that vice and pleasure
should always go together! It was just a little irritating to know that
Teresa would never again be troubled by the kind of worries that played
quite an important part in Agnes's own blameless life. Never again, for
instance, would Teresa's cook give her notice, as Agnes's cook had given
her notice that morning. It was about that matter she wished to see
Father Ferguson, for it was through the priest she had heard of the
impertinent Irish girl who cooked so well, but who had such an
independent manner, and who would _not_ wear a cap!

Yes, it certainly seemed unfair that Teresa would now be rid of all
domestic worries--nay, more, that the woman who had sinned would live in
luxurious hotels, motoring and shopping all day, going to the theatre or
to a music-hall each night.

At last, however, Agnes dismissed Teresa Maldo from her mind. She knew
that it is not healthy to dwell overmuch on such people and their
doings.

The few acquaintances Mrs. Barlow met on her way smiled and nodded, but,
as she was walking rather quickly, no one tried to stop her. She had
chosen the back way to the church because it was the prettiest way, and
also because it would take her by a house where a friend of hers was
living in lodgings.

And suddenly the very friend in question--his name was Ferrier--came out
of his lodgings. He had a tall, slight, active figure; he was dressed in
a blue serge suit, and, though it was still early spring, he wore a
straw hat.

Agnes smiled a little inward smil