Pauline smiled. "You have seen more of the
world than I have. I wish I had that wise
caution. Sit down, won't you, and let us talk? Or
first, let me apologise," added Pauline, dropping
her eyes humbly, "for thus violently carrying
you into the house. You have a hundred things
to do, I am sure. And now that I have seen
you and spoken to you—"

A hundred feelings were working in Mrs.
Fermor's mind. She recollected the night at the
Grand Hotel, and she had accepted her husband's
forgetfulness of the lady as though it were
truth; but this had not passed out of her mind.
It had only been packed up carefully and put by.
That little compliment about knowing the world
better than the grand, flashing creature before
her, had some little sweetness—there was
curiosity to know more, to discover more; and so
she did not rise to go away.

"We ought to know each other well," said
Pauline, after a pause; "after all that has
happened. It is so curious, our sitting this way
together, we two—of all people in the world.
There are some—pray forgive me—who could
not bear to look at you."

Young Mrs. Fermor smiled. She was thinking
that winners should be gracious always, and
could afford to hear much.

"I don't know what to say," she said; "these
things will come about."

"Of course," said the other; "of course.
Well, you are tired of our story and our woes.
He has told you of it over and over again—every
minute detail—until you are sick of the whole
business. He has described everything to you
over and over again."

The girl coloured. "No, indeed," she said;
"I had no curiosity. I never asked him."

"Never told you!" said Pauline. "I should
have thought it had been the one subject of his
mind. It should have been burnt into his brain.
I should fancy its haunting him like a nightmare.
You would fancy so, too! Naturally so,
only that the subject would not be so welcome to
a young wife. You have fitted up your skeleton-
closet already, my dear child. No matter. It
does as well as other furniture. You are very
happy, of course—while that poor darling—you
will say at least hers, my sister's, was a very cruel
fate."

"Why," said young Mrs. Fermor, "is she not
happy?"

Pauline looked at her. "Why do you take the
trouble of acting with me?"

"I protest," said the other, warmly, "I know
nothing—and have heard nothing. Was not her
marriage happy?"

Pauline started, gave a half cry.
"Marriage! What marriage? Ah, she was to have
been married. Ah! now I see. They have not told
you anything. He thought it was better not, as
it was only one of the old pathetic romantic
stories."

Mrs. Fermor was troubled; she looked
wondering and timorous at Pauline.

"She died," the latter went on—speaking fast,
"poor sweet child; foolishly, I think. Some would
have lived on through everything; she was only
a child, and the idea of being deserted wore her
out of life."

"Deserted!" said the other, starting up. "No.
Why, I was told— "

"O, of course," said Pauline, her cheeks
glowing; "these were too ugly ideas to be
introduced to a young bride! Ah! and yet it was
a cruel, cruel story."

Young Mrs. Fermor, greatly shocked, could
only say, "I never heard, indeed I did not. O,
this is dreadful; poor, poor child. I am so
grieved."

Pauline looked at her half scornfully.

"That should be all over now, and time should
have healed—what's the phrase? Yes, Mrs.
Fermor, death had to be called in to make a
place for you. In some of the long nights, get
Captain Fermor to tell you all the details. By-
and-by, you will discover other secrets which he
has not yet told you. But all in good time."

Young Mrs. Fermor was all confused, almost
overwhelmed by this news, and looked at her
helplessly. Just then the door opened sharply,
and a heavy figure swung in. It was the Mr.
Romaine, who was so handsomely gaunt.

CHAPTER VI. MR. ROMAINE.

His tread became heavy, as he saw there was
some one else present. He flung himself with
open ill humour on to a seat, casting a look of
impatience at the lady in shawl and bonnet, who
was so perversely in the way.

"This is Mrs. Fermor; don't you remember,
Mr. Romaine? You were introduced before;
for shame! You should send and have your
memory cleaned and oiled."

Romaine looked at her angrily; pushed the
low chair back.

"I want to recollect as little as I can, as you
know," he said, bluntly; "I am sick of
remembering. I wish the whole machine was worn
out."

"You have been in France—" said Pauline.
"Yet no Frenchman would have made such a
speech."

"Frenchman!" he said, with contempt. "I
mean no offence to your visitor, and if any one
is offended, I am sure I am ready to apologise.
But I say still, thank God I am not a Frenchman.
Better the lowest English boor before
that!"

He thus artfully escaped a special acquaintance
with the visitor, keeping her under the
general category of "a lady." Young Mrs.
Fermor—not yet recovered from the strange
things she had been hearing; and this wonder
mixed itself with yet another wonder at this
strange person, also with a little pique at his
rudeness—said, softly, "I am not the least
offended. I must say a word, though, for our low
English boors; I have always found them polite."

She said this very naturally, and perhaps