‘_What!_’ cried Quita shrilly. ‘You want me to tell a lie in order to screen yourself?’ ‘_A lie!_’ repeated Lizzie. ‘You know it is not a lie; you know when you came to us that night that you were delivered of a daughter, and that my poor father took charge of it for you. Oh, Quita, if you could see her,--her little waxen hands and feet, her wistful dark eyes, so like your own, and her tiny mouth, which just begins to smile, your mother’s heart would yearn to claim her for your own!’ For one moment Quita trembled at the picture Liz had conjured up, but the next, fear of ruining her own prospects crushed the softer feeling in her heart. ‘I deny it!’ she exclaimed loudly. ‘I deny every word you have uttered. You are either mad, or you mistake me for some other woman. How _dare_ you insinuate that I have ever had a child?’ ‘_You deny it!_’ echoed Lizzie, rising to her feet. ‘You can actually look me in the face, and deny it, Quita?’ ‘Most emphatically I do, and resent the insult you have laid upon me. I know nothing about the child which is in your bungalow. It may be yours, or any other woman’s, but it certainly is not _mine_; and if my parents heard you had accused me of such a dishonour, they would turn you from their doors!’ ‘What is all this about?’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney, as she entered the room. ‘Lizzie, you ought to know better than to let Maraquita excite herself with talking, when she has scarcely recovered from her late illness. She will have a relapse, if we do not take care.’ She had heard from Jessica that the Doctor’s daughter had entered the house, and, fearful of what she might have come to say, had hastened to the rescue of her daughter. Lizzie stood before her, silent and confused, but Quita appealed to her mother’s protection at once. ‘Mamma, just hear what Lizzie has told me. She says there is a baby at her bungalow which was left in the charge of her father, and she accuses me of being the mother of it, and wants me to tell a lie to you and papa, in order to screen herself from suspicion.’ ‘_Lizzie_ accuses _you_ of being _a mother_!’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney, with well-acted surprise. ‘Oh, it is _impossible_! Quita, you are dreaming!’ ‘Tell mamma if I am dreaming, Lizzie! Repeat to her what you said just now.’ ‘I shall do no such thing, Quita! I said what I did to you in confidence, and I refuse to repeat it to any one.’ ‘Because you know how mamma would resent such a foul calumny. Oh, mamma,’ continued Quita to her mother, ‘what have I ever done to be accused of such a dreadful thing? What would Sir Russell say if he heard of it?’ ‘I cannot believe my ears,’ said Mrs Courtney. ‘Do I hear aright, Lizzie, that you have _dared_ to link my daughter’s name with such a shameful story? What induced you to do it? Speak! I must have an answer.’ ‘I cannot speak, Mrs Courtney; I have nothing to say.’