hout a
reference--and who would give _you_ one? Tell me!"

Leonie remained silent--stunned.

"As I have told you, we simply cannot afford to live even like _this_!
I'm overdrawn as it is, and----"

"But," broke in Leonie with a gleam of hope, "but I have father's money
coming to me. I'm not quite sure how much it is, but you can have
it--_all_!"

"It's two thousand pounds down for yourself, and two hundred and fifty
a year in trust for your children--to be given you on your _wedding_
day."

"Oh!"

It was just a little pitiful exclamation as the girl realised the net
which was closing about her feet, but from the meshes of which she made
a last desperate effort to extricate herself.

"I think I--see--a way," she said slowly. "Yes--listen--this terrible
mystery that surrounds me, this--this curse which seems to bring
disaster or pain to everyone I love, simply makes life not worth
living--so if--if I make a will in your favour, Auntie, dear, and go
for a swim at Morte Point where the cross currents are--it will----"

But Susan Hetth interrupted violently, horror-stricken at the
suggestion made indifferently by the girl she loved as far as she was
capable of loving.

"How is suicide going to help?" she demanded shrilly. "There would be
an inquest, every bit of gossip, everything you had ever done would be
brought to light; the verdict would be insanity----"

"Oh, _Auntie_!"

Driven to desperation and without finesse Susan Hetth flung down her
trump card.

"But--I--I haven't told you the--the _worst_," she stammered, dabbing
her eyes with her handkerchief, and peering from behind it at Leonie
who, wearily pushing the hair off her forehead, stood apathetically
waiting.

"That--that man"--she jerked her head at the mantelpiece--"has--has a
hold on me!"

"What---do you mean Sir Walter--do you owe him _money_?" Leonie stared
in amazement as she spoke.

"Oh, no--it's worse!" came the reply, followed by a curtailed but
sufficiently dramatic recital of the past indiscretion, to which Leonie
listened spellbound.

"And you _do_ believe that it was just a bit of bad luck, and that
there was nothing _really_ wrong in it all, don't you, dear," insisted
the woman who, like ninety-nine per cent of humans, forgot the real
tragedy of the moment in the recital of her own pettifogging escapade.

"Absolutely," replied Leonie flatly.

"And you _do_ see the necessity of giving in, now that he has
threatened me wit