She let the curtain slip from her fingers.

"Look here, Violet, I can't possibly do anything now, really I can't; but at Christmas I promise faithfully."

Mrs. Horace laughed.

"At Christmas! Oh yes! And when Christmas comes it will be, 'Violet dear, I am so very sorry, but can't you possibly wait till Easter?' Oh, I know ... I know!"

There were two bright patches of unbecoming colour on her cheeks; she was adjusting her veil with hands that trembled.

"You have no right to say that sort of thing!" said Camilla, hotly; "it is very unjust and very untrue."

"And you have no right to go behind my back and borrow from my husband," said Violet Lancing. Her pale eyes looked very angry. "If you wanted money so badly you might have asked grandpa, I think, or somebody else. I consider it was awfully mean of you to go to Horace, and not to let me know a word about it. We have all sorts of worries ourselves, and the boys cost us no end of money; but you are just Ned all over again, Camilla! Everything you want you must have without considering any one or anything but yourself. I used to think all the old trouble was Ned's fault, and I was awfully sorry when you were left to fight for yourself, but now I know better!"

"Is all this necessary?" Camilla asked in a low voice.

But Mrs. Horace was wound up.

"I can't help it. You've brought it on yourself, and you ought to hear the truth now and again. You're not only horribly selfish, you're as deceitful as you can be.... You can't pretend so easily with me, Camilla! I know perfectly well that your life isn't dull and miserable as you try to make us believe, and I know, too, why you never want any of us to come here unawares." She jerked her veil down over her chin and tore it. "I am not a fool!" she finished, with a hard laugh, "though you may think I am."

"You are very angry with me, and you are talking a lot of nonsense,"

said Camilla.

She looked away from the other woman.

"I am very sorry you are vexed simply because when I was in trouble I turned to Ned's brother. It seemed the most natural thing to do. I know if Horace had asked Ned ... to help him in the old days he would have done it, and gladly, too!" She caught her breath, and for a moment she could not speak; then in a low voice she said, "I shall send this money back before Christmas; on that you may rely."

Mrs. Horace Lancing made a curious expression with her mouth, and rose to go. Instantly Camilla's manner changed.

"I am sorry you won't stay to tea.... You had such a horrid lunch. Give Horace my love, and tell him I am extremely hurt with him because he did not come here and fetch you. Will you have a cab?"

Violet Lancing shook her head, she picked up her tweed coat and squeezed herself into it with an effort. Her gloves took some time to put on. To make conversation and relieve the strained atmosphere, Camilla asked after the health of all the people she detested. She was particularly anxious to know how matters were pa.s.sing with Mrs.

Horace's own household, but she avoided all mention of her father-in-law a fact Mrs. Horace quickly made a note of.

"I didn't tell grandpa I was coming here," she observed, as she b.u.t.toned the last glove-b.u.t.ton; it was evident she had more to say, and she said it. "I think it only friendly to let you know, Camilla, that grandpa is not very nice about you just now," she said. "Though you never see him, he seems to know all that is going on. The other night when you were being discussed at dinner-time, he was quite angry."

"He has always been nasty with me. That is nothing new," said Camilla, quickly.

Mrs. Horace Lancing looked at her in a sly kind of way.

"Well, of course, it is none of my business, but I do think you are foolish not to try and make friends with him. Have you ever thought what would happen if he were to stop your allowance? I have heard him threaten this more than once. And then he complains bitterly that you never take the children to see him. It would help things a lot for you if you were to do this now and then. He is an old man, you know, and old people like to be remembered sometimes."

Camilla's eyes were bright.

"I am sorry, but the suburbs make me ill. If Colonel Lancing wants to see the children he must come here...."

There was almost a frightened expression for an instant on the other woman's face; evidently "grandpa" was no joking matter to her.

"Well, you can't say I haven't warned you," she said, and then she laughed. "The suburbs have their uses all the same sometimes, haven't they?" she observed. "Let me see. I think I left my umbrella downstairs."

Camilla accompanied her departing guest to the door.

"Are you sure you won't have a cab; it is getting late, you know."

There was a package lying on the hall table beside Mrs. Lancing's umbrella.

"Do you mind taking that to Mabel?" asked Camilla. "It is some chocolate, it won't do her any harm; it came from Paris."

When she was alone she mounted the stairs slowly and sat down once more on the stool in front of the fire. With a sigh, she clasped her hands round one knee, and swayed backwards and forwards, shutting her eyes, and Agnes Brenton, coming in rather softly, found her like this.

Mrs. Brenton paused a moment before advancing, and then she went forward and put her hand gently on Camilla's shoulder.

"What is it, dear? Did she scratch you very badly?"

Camilla turned and laughed faintly.

"She always manages to upset me, and as she came on purpose to be disagreeable, her visit has been most successful."

Mrs. Brenton pulled forward a chair, and sat down. She had left her knitting on one of the small tables the day before, and she took it up now mechanically, and began to move the needles to and fro.

Camilla watched her in a dreamy sort of way. Vaguely she wondered to herself how many hundred pairs of socks Agnes had made in her life.

"I must be a horribly wicked woman," she said suddenly, "otherwise I could not possibly have been given such a scourge as being compelled to take bread from these people."

"I thought a long time ago," said Mrs. Brenton, in her calm, quiet way, "you had realized what to expect from Violet Lancing. Dear child, it is hardly possible that she should be sympathetic to you."

"I don't care two figs about her," said Camilla, "and, as a matter of fact, I am rather sorry for her. Did you see the cut of her skirt? And tea at the stores is the only gaiety she ever has, poor soul. If she would only give me half a chance," Camilla added, "I should be awfully kind to her."

After a moment's pause Camilla said--

"It's the old man whom I really hate. Ned always said his father was an old devil, and so he is! It appears he is extra furious with me because I never take the children to see him.... How can I? If he forgets all the horrible things he did and said to me, I have unfortunately a much better memory!"

Agnes Brenton took this matter up quickly.

"You have never understood Colonel Lancing," she said, "just as he could never be expected to understand you. That he is a hard man I know well; but I am convinced he is not so hard as you imagine. He set his face against your marriage with Ned, not because he objected to you personally; that would have been ridiculous," interpolated Mrs. Brenton with a smile; "but because he knew it was going to be a miserable business for you." Agnes Brenton paused half a moment, and then said in a low voice, "And the result justified that belief pretty surely."

Camilla spread out her two small hands to shield her face from the fire.

"Don't deceive yourself, Agnes; there is nothing good about him; he is hard, he is cruel, he is horrid." She moved restlessly. "I wish I could cut them all out of my life, especially the old man. What a difference to my daddy. Oh, Agnes, if I only had daddy with me now! Dear, good, loving heart, why did you die?"

She bent forward suddenly and rang the bell.

"I must have the room arranged again," she said. Her pretty voice sounded a little husky. "It looks too hideous for words, and then, dearest, you shall have something to eat. On second thoughts, I am not sorry that Violet had a bad lunch. I hate every one who belongs to that old wolf! Oh, Agnes, let us talk about that girl Caroline--what's her name?"

Mrs. Brenton turned the heel of the sock, and her needles clicked musically for a few moments. Then she said--

"Well, I don't think you ought to do anything without consulting Mr.

Haverford."

"Good Heavens! why not?" exclaimed Camilla. "Bring back the flowers,"