e serviceable word.

He considered that he had now led the discussion to its close, on lines
of irreproachable symbolism. Nobody had overstepped the verge. Mrs.
Tailleur had not once been mentioned. She might have disappeared behind
the shelter provided by the merciful, silent decencies. Colonel Hankin
had shown his unwillingness to pursue her into the dim and undesirable
regions whence she came.

Then suddenly Miss Keating cried out her name.

She had felt herself abandoned, left there, all alone on the verge, and
before any of them knew where they were she was over it. Happily, she
was unaware of the violence with which she went. She seemed to herself
to move, downward indeed, but with a sure and slow propulsion. She
believed herself challenged to the demonstration by the Colonel's
attitude. The high distinction of it, that was remotely akin to Mr.
Lucy's, somehow obscured and degraded her. She conceived a dislike to
this well-behaved and honourable gentleman, and to his visible
perfections, the clean, silver whiteness and the pinkness of him.

His case was clear to her. He was a man, and he had looked at Kitty
Tailleur, and his sympathies, like Mr. Lucy's, had suffered an
abominable perversion. His judgment, like Mr. Lucy's, had surrendered to
the horrible charm. She said to herself bitterly, that she could not
compete with _that_.

She trembled as she faced the Colonel. "Very well, then," said she, "as
there is no one to help me I must protect myself. I shall not sleep
another night under the same roof as Mrs. Tailleur."

The three winced as if the name had been a blow struck at them. The
Colonel's silver eyebrows rose bristling. Mrs. Hankin got up and went
out of the room. Mrs. Jurd bent her head over her knitting. None of
them looked at Miss Keating; not even the Colonel, as he spoke.

"If you feel like that about it," said he, "there is nothing more to be
said."

He rose and followed his wife.

Upstairs, when their bedroom door had closed on them, he reproved her
very seriously for her indiscretion.

"You asked me," said he, "what I thought of Mrs. Tailleur, and I told
you; but I never said you were to go and hand it on. What on earth have
you been saying to those women?"

"I didn't say anything to Miss Keating."

"No, but you must have done to Mrs. What's-her-name?"

"Not very much. I don't like talking about unpleasant subjects, as you
know."

"Well, somebody's been talking about them. I shoul