This young lady at last rose again, but she lingered before going. “And has Captain Everard nothing to say to it?”

“To what, dear?”

“Why, to such questions — the domestic arrangements, things in the house.”

“How can he, with any authority, when nothing in the house is his?”

“Not his?” The girl wondered, perfectly conscious of the appearance she thus conferred on Mrs. Jordan of knowing, in comparison with herself, so tremendously much about it. Well, there were things she wanted so to get at that she was willing at last, though it hurt her, to pay for them with humiliation. “Why are they not his?”

“Don’t you know, dear, that he has nothing?”

“Nothing?” It was hard to see him in such a light, but Mrs. Jordan’s power to answer for it had a superiority that began, on the spot, to grow. “Isn’t he rich?”

Mrs. Jordan looked immensely, looked both generally and particularly, informed. “It depends upon what you call —! Not at any rate in the least as she is. What does he bring? Think what she has. And then, love, his debts.”

“His debts?” His young friend was fairly betrayed into helpless innocence. She could struggle a little, but she had to let herself go; and if she had spoken frankly she would have said: “Do tell me, for I don’t know so much about him as that!” As she didn’t speak frankly she only said: “His debts are nothing — when she so adores him.”

Mrs. Jordan began to fix her again, and now she saw that she must only take it all. That was what it had come to: his having sat with her there on the bench and under the trees in the summer darkness and put his hand on her, making her know what he would have said if permitted; his having returned to her afterwards, repeatedly, with supplicating eyes and a fever in his blood; and her having, on her side, hard and pedantic, helped by some miracle and with her impossible condition, only answered him, yet supplicating back, through the bars of the cage, — all simply that she might hear of him, now for ever lost, only through Mrs. Jordan, who touched him through Mr. Drake, who reached him through Lady Bradeen. “She adores him — but of course that wasn’t all there was about it.”

The girl met her eyes a minute, then quite surrendered. “What was there else about it?”

“Why, don’t you know?” — Mrs. Jordan was almost compassionate.

Her interlocutress had, in the cage, sounded depths, but there was a suggestion here somehow of an abyss quite measureless. “Of course I know she would never let him alone.”

“How could she — fancy! — when he had so compromised her?”

The most artless cry they had ever uttered broke, at this, from the younger pair of lips. “Had he so —?”

“Why, don’t you know the scandal?”

Our heroine thought, recollected there was something, whatever it was, that she knew after all much more of than Mrs. Jordan. She saw him again as she had seen him come that morning to recover the telegram — she saw him as she had seen him leave the shop. She perched herself a moment on this. “Oh there was nothing public.”

“Not exactly public — no. But there was an awful scare and an awful row. It was all on the very point of coming out. Something was lost — something was found.”

“Ah yes,” the girl replied, smiling as if with the revival of a blurred memory; “something was found.”

“It all got about — and there was a point at which Lord Bradeen had to act.”

“Had to — yes. But he didn’t.”

Mrs. Jordan was obliged to admit it. “No, he didn’t. And then, luckily for them, he died.”

“I didn’t know about his death,” her companion said.

“It was nine weeks ago, and most sudden. It has given them a prompt chance.”

“To get married?” — this was a wonder — “within nine weeks?”

“Oh not immediately, but — in all the circumstances — very quietly and, I ass............