Miss Bull was alone in the sitting-room of the late Mrs. Jersey. Margery had gone out shopping, and the old maid, left to her own resources, amused herself, as usual, with playing Patience. With the exception of a few old ladies in the drawing-room the house was empty, and Miss Bull found the quiet very soothing. After a time she grew weary of the game and seated herself in an armchair to meditate.

Her thoughts were sad. Here she was, an old spinster dragging out a miserable old age in a London lodging-house, while her sister lived and fared sumptuously in accordance with her position. Miss Bull looked back on all the trials she had passed through, and wondered how she had been able to stand them. For a moment a revolt took place in her breast at the cruel fate she had endured, but the feeling died away, and she relapsed into the patient misery which was her usual frame of mind. "It can't last much longer," said Miss Bull, with a sigh. "I am getting old, and the end is coming. The sooner the better."

As she gave vent to this dreary sentence there was a ring at the door. Miss Bull paid little attention to it, as she never had any visitors. But this day proved to be an exception, for George was admitted into the room. He advanced cordially toward Miss Bull.

"I have come to see you again, you see," said Brendon.

Miss Bull gave him her hand with a great deal of pleasure, and invited him to be seated. Now that she had thawed towards George she treated him kindly, and her face wore a less stony look. As the sun melts the frost, so did the reserved nature of the old maid melt when in the sunshine of Brendon's presence. More than that, Miss Bull actually congratulated herself on Margery's absence, as it gave her a chance of having the company of George all to herself.

"I am very glad to see you, Mr. Brendon," she said, ringing the bell. "You will have some tea?"

"Thank you," replied Brendon, who thought she might thaw still more under the influence of the tea-urn. "I suppose you wonder why I have come again so soon?"

Miss Bull smiled in her calm way. "You have come to make further inquiries likely to forward your fight for your birthright?"

George laughed. "There's no need for that, thank God," said he; "my grandfather has agreed to acknowledge me."

"Then there was a marriage?"

"I cannot be certain of that yet. How do you know about that?"

Miss Bull answered quietly: "You told me last time you were here that you were Lord Derrington's grandson, and I heard that there was some doubt about the legitimacy."

"I know it was common talk at one time," replied Brendon, satisfied with this explanation. "Did Mrs. Jersey ever speak about it?"

"No. She never did. What did she know about it?"

"I think you can best answer that question, Miss Bull."

George looked hard at her, and a faint tinge of color crept into her face. Before she could reply with a counter-question the servant brought in the tea. Miss Bull waited to supply George with a cup before she spoke. By that time the servant had left the room, and the door, as Miss Bull assured herself, was closed.

"I don't know to what you allude, Mr. Brendon."

"Perhaps if I allude to your life in San Remo you----"

Miss Bull started to her feet and the cup she held fell on the carpet. "San Remo," she muttered.

"Yes, Miss Howard," said Brendon, using her real name purposely.

The little old maid put one thin hand to her head. "Miss Howard!"

"The daughter of the late General Howard!" said George.

"My father was a general."

"He was. General Howard. You are Miss Jenny Howard."

Miss Bull started and then sat down. Her face expressed pain. "He used to call me Jenny. Jenny Howard. Yes, there was a happy girl of that name, but she--she died."

"Not at all," said Brendon, briskly, to arouse her from this dreamy state. "She lived and changed her name to Bull."

The woman pushed back her white hair and made an effort to be calm. But her lip quivered. "Why have you come here to awaken these painful memories?" she asked.

"Because I wish to know how my father came by his death."

"I do not know--indeed, I do not know," moaned Miss Bull, putting out her hand as though to ward off the thought.

"You may not know for certain, but you have some idea. Your sister, Mrs. Ward----"

Miss Bull's face flushed crimson, and she drew a deep breath. "Oh, it's Violet's work, is it?" she said, and her eyes grew hard. "And pray, Mr. Brendon, has she sent you to cross-question me?"

"No. I come on my own behalf. You knew my father?"

"Percy Vane. Yes, I knew him. He loved me---ah, indeed he did! That night he asked me to be his wife, and had he not been murdered----"

"Did he ask you when he was taking you home?" asked George, wondering how Miss Bull would have behaved as his stepmother.

"Taking me home? He never did that on the night of the ball."

"Your sister, Mrs. Ward----"

"I have no sister. I disown Violet. She is a wicked woman!"

George was quite of this opinion, yet for the sake of Dorothy he dissented. "She has her good points, Miss Bull.

"No! no! She has no good points. She is selfish, vain, cruel, and deceitful. A child of the devil. How do you know that I am her sister? and how did you come to learn my name?"

"Lord Derrington told me, and it was told to him by Mr. Ireland."

"Your guardian." Miss Bull tapped her hand on the woodwork of her chair. "He recognized me when I called to see him on that day about the lease. But he promised to hold his tongue."

"He would have done so had he not been startled by meeting Mrs. Ward and recognizing in her the woman who had left the ball with my father."

"And Violet admitted this?"

"No. She said that you had left the ball with my father. It was you who wore the blue domino and the holly sprig."

"Liar! Liar!" muttered Miss Bull; "but she is always the same. When I saw her at the music-hall the other night her face wore the same false smile. Oh, that I could see her punished as she deserves!"

"God will punish her, Miss Bull."

"He has delayed long," said the old maid with a bitter smile. "My sister has enjoyed the good things of this life. She has had money, position, praise, and all that a woman desires. As for myself--" She looked round the room and burst into a bitter laugh. "Yet Jenny Howard was always considered the prettier sister of the two."

"Then it really was Mrs. Ward who left the ball."

"It was. She lays the blame on my shoulders--" Miss Bull paused, and her mouth worked nervously. "Does she accuse me of the crime?"

"No. She says that you left Mr. Vane at the gate of the hotel."

"Oh," muttered Miss Bull, "Percy came as far as that with her, did he? And she said he left her at the door of the room where the ball was being held. Liar! Liar! She always was. She always will be. Can the leopard change his spots?"

By this time the ice in Miss Bull's nature had melted under the heat of her indignation. She walked hurriedly up and down the room, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed. George was pleased to see this, as he thought she was the more likely to tell the truth when thus moved by emotion than if she had remained calm. Miss Bull was so angered by the memory of her wrongs that she struck her hand against the mantelpiece so as to inflict pain. The shock seemed to nerve her, for she drew a long breath and returned to her seat. With her eyes fixed, on George she began abruptly.

"Violet has told her story," she said, "now I will tell you mine. I want to know, however, exactly what she said, in the exact words if you can remember them."

"I did not hear her speak," confessed George; "it was my grandfather and Mr. Ireland to whom she told the story."

"Story! Fable! Lie! Romance!" said Miss Bull, vehemently. "Well, tell me what you can remember!"

This George did as concisely as possible, for he feared lest Margery should interrupt the interview. Miss Bull listened with a downcast face and pursed-up lips. Not a word did she say, but when George ended she looked up with a bitter smile.

"She has simply put herself in my place," she said. "Wait!"

For a moment or so she tried to compose herself. Then she raised her head and looked her visitor squarely in the eyes. "I am going to tell the truth," said Miss Bull, bravely, "therefore I have no need to shun your gaze. Mr. Brendon, I loved your father."

"So Mrs. Ward said."

"And Violet loved him also."

"He must have been a singularly attractive man," remarked Brendon, wondering at this revelation. "My mother eloped with him; her maid was in love with him, and now you and Mrs. Ward----"

"Oh, Violet really did not love him. It was simply a desire to take him from me that made her behave as she did. Violet never loved any one in her life, save the person she sees in the mirror every day. A selfish woman, Mr. Brendon, and a wicked one."

This was no news to George, so he strove to coax her to tell him that which he wished to know. "I don't quite understand, but if you will relate the story----"

"I shall do so at once. You may as well know all, and know also what a bad woman I have for a sister. If she was dying," cried Miss Bull, vehemently, "I wouldn't raise a finger to save her life."

"We should forgive our enemies," hinted George.

"I can't forgive her. I never will forgive her. She ruined my life, George Brendon, she ruined my life."

Brendon said nothing, and in a few moments Miss Bull composed herself sufficiently to tell what she knew. "My father was General Howard," she said quietly, "and Violet was my only sister. We never got on well together. Violet was jealous of admiration, and as I was said to be prettier than she was she hated me intensely. Whenever any one liked me Violet would do her best to take him away from me."

"I can quite believe that," said George, recalling Mrs. Ward's arts.

"She did not always succeed, however," continued Miss Bull, with a flush. "I had my admirers also, and some I could keep. But when Violet cou............