ossibility into their doubts and fears. They do
not think of character or nature. Now, in a moment the scales fell from
Lucy's eyes. Was her husband a man to treat her with such unimaginable
insult? Was the Contessa, with all her triumphant designs, her
mendacities, her mendicities, her thirst for pleasure, such a woman?
Whoever said it, could this be true?

The Contessa perceived with a start that her hand had dropped from her
mouth. She put back the handkerchief again with tremulous eagerness. "If
I take it, all will go wrong--all will fall to pieces," she said
pathetically. "Lucy, dear one, do not come near me, but send me Bice, if
you love me," the Contessa cried. She smiled with her eyes, though her
mouth was covered. She had not so much as understood, she, so
experienced, so acquainted with the wicked world, so _connaisseuse_ in
evil tales--she had not even so much as divined what innocent Lucy meant
to say.

CHAPTER LII.

THE END.

Bice was taken away in the cab, there being no reason why she should
remain in a house where Lucy was no longer lonely or heartbroken--but
not by her patroness, who was doubly her aunt, but did not love that
old-fashioned title, and did love a mystery. The Contessa would not
trust herself in the same vehicle with the girl who had come out of
little Tom's nursery, and was no doubt charged with pestilence. She
walked, marvel of marvels, with a thick veil over her face, and Sir Tom,
in amused attendance, looking with some curiosity through the gauze at
this wonder of a spring morning which she had not seen for years. Bice,
for her part, was conveyed by the old woman who waited in the cab, the
mother of one of the servants in the Mayfair house, to her humble home,
where the girl was fumigated and disinfected to the Contessa's desire.
She was presented a week after, the strictest secrecy being kept about
these proceedings; and mercifully, as a matter of fact, did not convey
infection either to the Contessa or to the still more distinguished
ladies with whom she came in contact. What a day for Madame di
Forno-Populo! There was nothing against her. The Duchess had spent an
anxious week, inquiring everywhere. She had pledged herself in a weak
hour; but though the men laughed, that was all. Not even in the clubs
was there any story to be got hold of. The Duchess had a son-in-law who
was clever in gossip. He said there was nothing, and the Lord
Chamberlain made no objection. The Con