'That was my duty--and I never had her full confidence.'

'Wasn't it natural she----'

'Well, all things considered, she might have wanted to tell me who was responsible.'

'Oh, Aunt Lydia.'

'All she ever said was that she was ashamed'--Mrs. Heriot was fast losing her temper and her fine feeling for the innocence of her auditor--'ashamed that she "hadn't had the courage to resist"--not the original temptation, but the pressure brought to bear on her "not to go through with it," as she said.'

With a shrinking look the girl wrinkled her brows. 'You are being so delicate--I'm not sure I understand.'

'The only thing you need understand,' said her aunt, irritably, 'is that she's not a desirable companion for a young girl.'

There was a pause.

'When did you see her after--after----'

Mrs. Heriot made a slight grimace. 'I met her last winter at--of all places--the Bishop's!'

'They're relations of hers.'

'Yes. It was while you were in Scotland. They'd got her to help with some of their work. Now she's taken hold of ours. Your aunt and uncle are quite foolish about her, and I'm debarred from taking any steps, at least till the Shelter is out of hand.'

The girl's face was shadowed--even a little frightened. It was evident she was struggling not to give way altogether to alarm and repulsion.

'I do rather wonder that after that, she can bring herself to talk about--the unfortunate women of the world.'

'The effrontery of it!' said her aunt.

'Or--the courage!' The girl put her hand up to her throat as if the sentence had caught there.

'Even presumes to set _me_ right! Of course I don't _mind_ in the least, poor soul--but I feel I owe it to your dead mother to tell you about her, especially as you're old enough now to know something about life.'

'And since a girl needn't be very old to suffer for her ignorance'--she spoke slowly, moving a little away. But she stopped on the final sentence: 'I _felt_ she was rather wonderful!'

'_Wonderful!_'

'To have lived through _that_, when she was--how old?'

Mrs. Heriot rose with an increased irritation. 'Nineteen or thereabouts.'

'Five years younger than I!' Jean sat down on the divan and stared at the floor. 'To be abandoned, and to come out of it like this!'

Mrs. Heriot went to her and laid her hand on the girl's shoulder.

'It was too bad to have to tell you such a sordid story to-day of all days.'

'It is a terrible story, but this wasn't a bad time. I feel very sorry to-day for women who aren't happy.' She started as a motor-horn was faintly heard. 'That's Geoffrey!' She jumped to her feet.

'Mr. Stonor. What makes you think----?'

'Yes, yes. I'm sure. I'm sure!' Every shadow fled out of her face in the sudden burst of sunshine.

Lord John hurried in from the garden as the motor-horn sounded louder.

'Who do you think is coming round the drive?'

Jean caught hold of him. 'Oh, dear! are those other people all about?

How am I ever going to be able to behave like a girl who--who isn't engaged to the only man in the world worth marrying!'

'You were expecting Mr. Stonor all the time!' exclaimed Aunt Lydia.

'He promised he'd come to luncheon if it was humanly possible. I was afraid to tell you for fear he'd be prevented.'

Lord John was laughing as he went towards the lobby. 'You felt we couldn't have borne the disappointment!'

'I felt I couldn't,' said the girl, standing there with a rapt look.

CHAPTER XV

She did not look round when d.i.c.k Farnborough ran in from the garden, saying: '_Is_ it--is it really?' For just then on the opposite side of the great hall, the centre of a little buzz of welcome, Stonor's tall figure appeared between host and hostess.

'What luck!' Farnborough said under his breath.

He hurried back and faced the rest of the party who were cl.u.s.tered outside the window trying to look unconcerned.

'Yes, by Jove!' he set their incredulity at rest. 'It _is_!'

Discreetly they glanced and craned and then elaborately turned their backs, pretending to be talking among themselves. But, as though the girl standing there expectant in the middle of the hall were well aware of the enormous sensation the new arrival had created, she herself contributed nothing to it. Stonor came forward, and she met him with a soft, happy look, and the low words: 'What a good thing you managed it!'

Then she made way for Mrs. Heriot's far more impressive greeting, innocent of the smallest reminder of the last encounter!

It was Lord John who cut these amenities short by chaffing Stonor for being so enterprising all of a sudden. 'Fancy your motoring out of town to see a supporter on Sunday!'

'I don't know how we ever covered the ground in the old days,' he answered. 'It's no use to stand for your borough any more. The American, you know, he "runs" for Congress. By-and-by we shall all be flying after the thing we want.' He smiled at Jean.

'Sh!' She glanced over her shoulder and spoke low. 'All sorts of irrelevant people here.'

One of them, unable any longer to resist the temptation, was making a second foray into the hall.

'How do you do, Mr. Stonor?' Farnborough stood there holding out his hand.

The great man seemed not to see it, but he murmured, 'How do you do?'

and proceeded to share with Lady John his dislike of any means of locomotion except his own legs or those of a horse.