there would have been some
sense in it."

Lady Ilfield smiled with the air of a person possessed of superior
knowledge.

"My dear Lady Chandos," she said, "it is time your eyes were opened; you
are about the only person in London who does not know that Lord Chandos
is Madame Vanira's shadow."

"I do not believe it," was the indignant reply. "I would not believe it,
Lady Ilfield, if all London swore it."

Lady Ilfield laughed, and the tinge of contempt in that laugh made the
gentle heart beat with indignation. She rose from her seat.

"I do not doubt," she said, "that you came to tell me this with a
good-natured intention. I will give you credit for that always, Lady
Ilfield, when I remember this painful scene, but I have faith in my
husband. Nothing can shake it. And if the story you tell be true, I am
quite sure Lord Chandos can give a good explanation of it. Permit me to
say good-morning, Lady Ilfield, and to decline any further conversation
on the matter."

"For all that," said Lady Ilfield to herself, "you will have to suffer,
my lady; you refuse to believe it, but the time will come when you will
have to believe it and deplore it."

Yet Lady Ilfield was not quite satisfied when she went away.

While to Lady Chandos had come the first burst of an intolerable pain,
her first anguish of jealousy, her only emotion at the commencement of
the conversation was one of extreme indignation. It was a calumny, she
told herself, and she had vehemently espoused her husband's cause; but
when she was alone and began to think over what had been said her faith
was somewhat shaken.

It was a straightforward story. Captain and Lady Evelyn Blake were quite
incapable of inventing such a thing. Then she tried to remember how
Tuesday had passed. It came back to her with a keen sense of pain that
on Tuesday she had not seen him all day. He had risen early and had gone
out, leaving word that he should not return for luncheon. She had been
to a morning concert, and had stayed until nearly dinner-time with the
countess. When she returned to Stoneland House he was there; they had a
dinner-party, and neither husband nor wife had asked each other how the
day was spent. She remembered it now. Certainly so far his absence
tallied with the story; but her faith in her husband was not to be
destroyed by the gossip of people who had nothing to do but talk.

What was it Lady Ilfield had said? That she was the only person in
London who did