might be
discovered when she would not be there to see the effect it had on
Madame. Ah! the letter was all that Louise's fancy had painted it. See
the emotion in Madame's back! How expressive is the back! What
abominable intrigue! It was not necessary, indeed, to go to Paris to
find wickedness. And, above all, the Warden---- Oh, my God! Never, never
shall I repose confidence even in the Englishman the most respectable!

"Presently," said Lady Dashwood, in answer to Louise's question.

Lady Dashwood had made up her mind. She must have opened all three
letters but only read two of them. There was no other explanation
possible. What was to be done with Gwen's letter? What was to be done
with this--vile scribble?

Lady Dashwood's fingers were aching to tear the letter up, but she
refrained. It would need some thinking over. The style of this letter
was probably familiar to Gwendolen--her mind had already been corrupted.
And to think that Jim might have had Belinda and Co., and all that
Belinda and Co. implied, hanging round his neck and dragging him
down--till he dropped into his grave from the sheer dead weight of it!

"Yes, immediately," said Lady Dashwood. She would not go downstairs
again. It was of vital importance that Jim and May should be alone
together, yes, alone together.

Lady Dashwood put the letter away in a drawer and locked it. She must
have time to think.

A few minutes later Louise was brushing out her mistress's hair--a mass
of grey hair, still luxuriant, that had once been black.

"I find that Oxford does not agree with Madame's hair," said Louise, as
she plied vigorously with the brush.

Lady Dashwood made no reply.

"I find that Oxford does not agree with Madame's hair at all, at all,"
repeated Louise, firmly.

"Is it going greyer?" said Lady Dashwood indifferently, for her mind was
working hard on another subject.

"It grows not greyer, but it becomes dead, like the hair of a corpse--in
this atmosphere of Oxford," said Louise, even more firmly.

"Try not to exaggerate, Louise," said Lady Dashwood, quite unmoved.

"Madame cannot deny that the humidity of Oxford is bad both for skin and
hair," said Louise, with some resentment in her tone.

"Damp is not bad for the skin, Louise," said her mistress, "but it may
be for the hair; I don't know and I don't care."

"It's bad for the skin," said Louise. "I have seen Madame looking grave,
the skin folded, in Oxford. It is the climate. It is i