; and I am, as you know, devoted heart and soul. If all
the world turned against you, Mercedes, I should keep my faith in
you. I need hardly tell you what is being said. Claude Drew is in
London and though, naturally, he does not dare face your friends
with his story, rumours are abroad. Betty Jardine does not know
him, but already she has heard; I met her only a few hours ago and
the miserable little creature was full of malicious satisfaction.
The story that she has heard--and believes--and that London will
believe--is the crude, gross one that facts, so disastrously, have
lent colour to; you, in a fit of furious jealousy, driving Karen
away. My poor, great, suffering friend, I need not tell you that I
understand. Your letter rings true to me in every line, and is but
too magnanimous.--Oh Mercedes!--had you but listened to my warnings
about that wretched man. Do you remember that I told you that you
were scattering your pearls before swine? And your exculpation of
Karen did not convince me as it seemed to do Mrs. Forrester. A
really guileless woman is not found--late at night--in a man's
arms. I cannot forget Karen's origins. There must be in her the
element of reckless passion. Mr. Drew is spreading a highly
idealised account of her and says that to see you together was to
see Antigone in the clutches of Clytemnestra. There is some
satisfaction in knowing that the miserable man is quite distracted
and is haunted by the idea that Karen may have committed suicide.
Betty Jardine says that in that case you and he would have to
appear at the inquest.--Oh, my poor Mercedes!--But I feel sure that
this is impossible. Temper, not tragedy, drove Karen from you and
it was on her part a dastardly action. I am seeing everybody that I
can; they shall have my version. The Duchess is in the country; I
have wired to her that I will go to her at once if you do not send
for me; it is important that she should have the facts as I see
them before these abominable rumours reach her. Dear Mrs. Forrester
means, I am sure, to do loyally; you may count upon her to listen
to no scandal; but its breath alarms and chills her: she does not
interpret your letter as I do.

"Good-bye, my dear one. Wire to me please, at once. Ever and always
_ton Eleanor devouee_."

"Well," Mrs