cribe the subserviency of her
male retinue to "Gwen o' the Towers." To say that they were ready to
kiss the hem of her garment is but a feeble expression of the truth.
Say, rather, that they were ready to fight for the privilege of doing
so!

"I can't say," Gwen resumed, "precisely what I found my misgivings on.
Little things I can't lay hold of. I can't find any _fault_ with
Lutwyche when she was attending on the dear old soul in Cavendish
Square. But I couldn't help thinking...."

"What?"

"Well--I thought she showed a slightly fiendish readiness to defer to my
minutest directions, and perhaps, I should say, a fell determination not
to presume." Telegraphies of slight perceptive nods and raised eyebrows,
in touch with shoulder shrugs not insisted on, expressed mutual
understanding between the two young ladies. "Of course, I may be wrong,"
said Gwen. "But when I interviewed Mrs. Masham last thing last night, it
was borne in upon me, Heaven knows how, that she had been in collision
with Lutwyche about the old lady."

"What is it you call her?" said Irene. "Old Mrs. Picture? There's
nothing against her, is there?"

Adrian had seemed to be considering a point. "Did you not say
something--last letter but one, I think--about the old lady's husband
having been convicted and transported?"

"Oh _yes_!--but that's not to be talked about, you know! Besides, it was
her son, not her husband, that I wrote about. I only found out about the
husband a day or two ago. Only you must be very careful, dearest, and
remember it's a dead secret. I promise not to tell things, and then of
course I forget, when it's you. Old Mrs. Picture would quite understand,
though, if I told her."

Adrian said that he really must have some more of the secret to keep, or
it would not be worth keeping.

So Gwen told them then and there all that old Mrs. Picture had told her
of her terrible life-story. It may have contained things this present
narrative has missed, or _vice versa_, but the essential points were the
same in both.

"What a queer story!" said Adrian. "Did the old body cry when she told
it?"

"Scarcely, if at all. She looked very beautiful--you've no idea how
lovely she is sometimes--and told it all quite quietly, just as if she
had been speaking of someone else."

"I have always had a theory," said Adrian, "that one gets less and less
identical, as Time goes on...."

"What do you mean by that?" said Gwen.

"Haven't the slightes