Letty repeated her little formula: "Lemon?--cream?--one lump?--two lumps?" though before she reached the end of it her voice began to fail. Catching the hostility in the other woman's bearing, she felt it the more acutely because in style, dress, and carriage this was the model she would have chosen for herself.

Miss Walbrook waved hospitality aside. "Thank you, no; nothing in the way of tea." She nodded over her shoulder towards William's retreating form. "Who's that man?"

Her tone was that of a person with the right to inquire. Letty didn't question that right, knowing the extent to which she herself was an usurper. "His name is William."

"How did he come here?"

"I--I don't know."

"Where are Nettie and Jane?"

"They've--they've left."

"Left? Why?"

"I--I don't know."

"And has Mrs. Courage left too?"

Letty nodded, the damask flush flooding her cheeks darkly.

"When? Since--since you came?"

Letty nodded again. She knew now that this was the bar of social judgment of which she had been afraid.

The social judge continued. "That must be very hard on Mr. Allerton."

Letty bowed her head. "I suppose it is."

"He's not used to new people about him, and it's not good for him. I don't know whether you've seen enough of him to know that he's something of an invalid."

"I know--" she touched her forehead--"that he's sick up here."

"Oh, do you? Then I shouldn't have thought that you'd have--" but she dropped this line to take up another. "Yes, he's always been so. When he was a boy they were afraid he might be epileptic; and though he never was as bad as that he's always needed to be taken care of. He can do very wild and foolish things as--as you've discovered for yourself."

Letty felt herself now a little shameful lump of misery. This woman was so experienced, so right. She spoke with a decision and an authority which made love at first sight a fancy to blush at. Letty could say nothing because there was nothing to say, and meanwhile the determined voice went on.

"It's terrible for a man like him to make such a mistake, because being what he is he can't grapple with it as a stronger or a coa.r.s.er man would do."

But here Letty saw something that might be faintly pleaded in her own defence. "He says he wouldn't ha' made the mistake if that--that other girl hadn't been crazy."

Barbara drew herself up. "Did he--did he say that?"

"He said something like it. He said she went off the hooks, just like he did himself." She raised her eyes. "Do you know her, Miss Walbrook?"

"Yes, I know her."

"She must be an awful fool."

Barbara prayed for patience. "What--what makes you say so?"

"Oh, just what _he's_ said."

"And what has he said? Has he talked about her to _you_?"

"He hasn't talked about her. He's just--just let things out."

"What sort of things?"

"Only that sort." She added, as if to herself: "I don't believe he thinks much of her."

Barbara's self-control was miraculous. "I've understood that he was very much in love with her."

"Well, perhaps he is." Letty's little movement of the shoulders hinted that an expert wouldn't be of this opinion. "He may think he is, anyhow."

"But if he thinks he is----"

Letty's eyes rested on her visitor with their compelling candor. "I don't believe men know much about love, do you, Miss Walbrook?"

"It depends. All men haven't had as much experience of it as I suppose you've had----"

"Oh, I haven't had any." The candor of the eyes was now in the whole of the truthful face. "n.o.body was ever in love with me--never. I never had a fella--nor nothing."

In spite of herself Barbara believed this. She couldn't help herself.

She could hear Rash saying that whatever else was wrong in the ridiculous business the girl herself was straight. All the same the discussion was beneath her. It was beneath her to listen to opinions of herself coming from such a source. If Rash didn't "think much of her" there was something to "have out" with him, not with this little street-waif dressed up with this ludicrous mummery. The sooner she ended the business on which she had come the sooner she would get a legitimate outlet for the pa.s.sion of jealousy and rage consuming her.

"But we're wandering away from my errand. I won't pretend that I've come of my own accord. I'm a very old friend of Mr. Allerton's, and he's asked me--or practically asked me--to come and find out----"

For what she was to come and find out she lacked for a minute the right word, and so held up the sentence.

"What I'd take to let him off?"

The form of expression was so crude that once more Barbara was startled. "Well, that's what it would come to."

"But I've told him already that--that I want to let him off anyhow."

"Yes? And on what terms?"

"I don't want any terms."

"Oh, but there must be _terms_. He couldn't let you do it----"

"He could let me do it for _him_, couldn't he? I'd go through fire, if it'd make him a bit more comfortable than he is."

Barbara could not believe her ears. "Do you want me to understand that----?"

"That I'll do whatever will make him happy just to _make_ him happy?

Yes. That's it. He didn't need to send no one--to send anyone--to ask me, because I've told him so already. He wants me to get out. Well, I'm ready to get out. He wants me to go to the bad. Well, I'm ready----"