"You might have thought of her, then."

"I did. I did think of her."

"My dear--you know what's the matter with her?"

"That," said Jane slowly, "is what I thought of. She might have been
happy if it hadn't been for me."

"That was out of the question," said Sophy, with some asperity.

"Was it? Well, anyhow, she's happy now."

"Jinny, you're beyond anything. Do you mean to tell me that was what you
did it for?"

"Partly. I had to have some one. But, yes, that's why I had Gertrude."

"Well, if you did it for Gertrude it was cruel kindness. Encouraging her
in her preposterous----"

"Don't, Sophy. There couldn't be anything more innocent on earth."

"Oh, innocent, I dare say. But I've no patience with the folly of it."

"I have. It might so easily have been me."

"You? I don't see you making a fool of yourself."

"I do. I can see myself making an eternal fool. _You_ wouldn't, Sophy,
you haven't got it in you. But I could cry when I look at Gertrude. We
oughtn't to be talking about it. It's awful of us. We've no right even
to know."

"My dear, when it's so apparent! What does Hugh think of it?"

"Do you suppose I've given her away to him?"

"I imagine he knows."

"If he does, he wouldn't give her away to me."

"I'm afraid, dear, she gave herself away."

"Don't you see that that makes it all the worse for her? It makes it
horrible. Think how she must have suffered before she _could_. The only
chance for her now is to have her back, to face the thing, and let it
take its poor innocent place, and make it beautiful for her, so that she
can endure it and get all the happiness she can out of it. It's so
little she can get, and I owe it to her. I made her suffer."

Sophy became thoughtful.

"After all, Jinny," she said, "you _are_ rather a dear. All the same, if
Gertrude wasn't a good woman----"

"But she _is_ a good woman. That's why she's happy now."

Sophy arranged her motor-veil, very thoughtfully, over and around a
smile.

This conversation had thrown light on Jinny, a light that to Sophy's
sense was beautiful but perilous, hardly of the earth.

XLIII

Down in the garden at Roehampton, Gertrude and Frances Heron were more
tenderly and intimately discussing the same theme.

Frances was the only one of the Brodricks with whom tenderness and
intimacy were possible for one in Gertrude's case. She was approachable
through her sufferings, her profound affections, and the dependence of
h