shouldn't I be immoral?" says she. Once again
she flings her arms above her head so that her fingers grow clasped
behind it. "It pays! It certainly pays. It is only the goody-goodies
who go to the wall."

"My _dear_ Marian!" says Lady Rylton, with a delicate pretence at
horror; she puts up her hands, but after a second or so bursts out
laughing. "I always say you are the one creature who amuses me,"
cries she, leaning back, and giving full play to her mirth. "I never
get _at_ you, somehow. I am never _quite_ sure whether you are very
good or very--well, very much the other thing. That is your charm."

The stupid, pretty little woman has reached a truth in spite of
herself--that _is_ Mrs. Bethune's charm.

A quick change passes over the latter's face. There is extreme
hatred in it. It is gone, however, as soon as born, and remains for
ever a secret to her companion.

"Does that amuse you?" says she airily. "I dare say a perpetual
riddle _is_ interesting. One can never guess it."

"As for that, I can read you easily enough," says Lady Rylton, with
a superior air. "You are original, but--yes--I can read you." She
could as easily have read a page of Sanscrit. "It is your
originality I like. I have never, in spite of many things, been in
the least sorry that I gave you a home on the death of
your--er--rather disreputable husband."

Mrs. Bethune looks sweetly at her.

"And _such_ a home!" says she.

"Not a word, not a word," entreats Lady Rylton graciously. "But to
return to Maurice. I shall expect you to help me in this matter,
Marian."

"Naturally."

"I have quite understood your relations with Maurice during the past
year. One, as a matter of course," with a shrug of her dainty
shoulders, "lets the nearest man make love to one---- But Maurice
must marry for money, and so must you."

"You are all wisdom," says Marian, showing her lovely teeth. "And
this girl? She has been here a week now, but as yet you have told me
nothing about her."

"I picked her up!" says Lady Rylton. She lays down her fan--looks
round her in a little mysterious fashion, as though to make doubly
sure of the apparent fact that there is no one in the room but her
niece and herself. "It was the most providential thing," she says;
"I was staying at the Warburtons' last month, and one day when
driving their abominable ponies along the road, suddenly the little
beasts took fright and bolted. You know the Warburtons, don't you?
They haven't