it to you. You are to blame;
you murdered him, his blood is on your head! And I scolded him when he
told me about you and Joyselle. I refused to believe him. Oh, Gerald,
Gerald!"

How much she believed of what she said it is impossible to say, but her
lack of self-control and her immense egotism were such that together
they made a formidable force to argue against.

Brigit sneered as she looked down at her. "For Heaven's sake, don't be
so ridiculous," she said impatiently. "And don't--lie."

"I am _not_ lying. He told me about you and Joyselle, and I believe him.
Yes I do, I believe him. You are in love with the man, and that's why
you don't marry his son----"

"Look here, mother," Brigit's temper was rising fast. "Answer one
question quietly, will you? Do you believe what Gerald Carron told you
about me and Joyselle?"

And Lady Kingsmead, whose hysterical excitement was now well beyond
control, screamed out that she did believe it.

Brigit rose. "Very well. Think as you like. And--good-bye."

She left the house without a word, and taking a hansom went straight to
Golden Square.

Felicite, who was alone, kissed her kindly and insisted on giving her
tea. This, however, Brigit refused. Desperate as she was, she had come
to the point of feeling that she could never again accept the little
woman's hospitality. What she was going to do she did not know, but she
was not going to marry Theo, and she would never again come to Golden
Square.

"No, thanks," she said gently, "I want to see your husband, so as you
think he is there, I will rush up to Chelsea. You look tired--_petite
mere_."

Felicite smiled. "I am. I have been turning out our room and re-hanging
all the pictures. But I like doing it. How is dear Tommy?"

"Much better, thanks. He is going to Margate to-morrow--to the sea, you
know."

Felicite went downstairs with her and kissed her again at parting. "Theo
will be very glad you are in town," she said. "And you, my daughter--do
things go better with you?"

Touched by the kind light in her innocent eyes, Brigit lied. "Ah, yes,
much better, thank you," she returned; "everything is all right."

And when she was in her hansom hurrying Chelseawards, she felt with a
sigh that it was a harmless lie.

"She is a dear, poor Felicite, and when Victor has told her that I will
not marry Theo, and I have gone away--she will be less troubled."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

As she went up the stairs in the house i