give a friend away. Will you promise to
keep my treachery secret forever? Will you promise to treat what I am
going to tell you about her as if I told it to you in the confessional?"

"If you tell it to me I will. But why must you tell it to me? I don't
like treachery. It's an ugly thing."

"I can't help that. I really came here just for that--to be
treacherous."

She looked into the fire and sighed.

"I've covered a great sin with my garment," she murmured slowly, "and I
repent me!"

Then, with a look of resolve, she turned to her white-haired companion.

"I've got a friend," she said--"a woman friend. Her name is Cynthia
Clarke. (I'm in the confessional now!) You may have heard of her. She
was a _cause celebre_ some time ago. Her husband tried to divorce her,
poor man, and failed."

"No, I never heard her name before," said Father Robertson.

"You don't read _causes celebres_. You have better things to do. Well,
she's my friend. I don't exactly know why. Her husband was Councillor in
my husband's Embassy. But I knew her before that. We always got on. She
has peculiar fascination--a sort of strange beauty, a very intelligent
mind, and the strongest will I have ever known. She has virtues of a
kind. She never speaks against other women. If she knew a secret of mine
I am sure she would never tell it. She is thoroughbred. I find her a
very interesting woman. There is absolutely no one like her. She's a
woman one would miss. That's on one side. On the other--she's a cruel
woman; she's a consummate hypocrite; she's absolutely corrupt. You
wonder why she's my friend?"

"I did not say so."

"Nor look it. But you do. Well, I suppose I haven't many scruples except
about myself. And I have been trained in the let-other-people-alone
tradition. Besides, Cynthia Clarke never told me anything. No one has
told me. Being a not stupid woman, I just know what she is. I'll put
it brutally, Mr. Robertson. She is a huntress of men. That is what she
lives for. But she deceives people into believing that she is a purely
mental woman. All the men whom she doesn't hunt believe in her. Even
women believe in her. She has good friends among women. They stick to
her. Why? Because she intends them to. She has a conquering will. And
she never tells a secret--especially if it is her own. In her last
sin--for it is a sin--I have been a sort of accomplice. She meant me to
be one and"--Lady Ingleton slightly shrugged her shoulders--"I yield