"Will you tell me the whole story? I did not intend to come to see you, to mention her name. But it has come back, and I must know all that there is to know--from the very date of my leaving up to now. Of course, she wrote me that you were in her confidence." She told the story of a year which had been as big with import for one woman as for a nation. "Mr. Randolph died six months after the wedding," she concluded, wondering if some men were made of stone. "It killed him. He did not see her again until he was on his death-bed. Then he forgave her. Any one would, poor thing. He left his money in trust, so that she has a large income, and is in no danger of losing it. She lives with her mother at Redwoods. Clough died some years ago--of drink. It was in his blood, I suppose, for almost from the day he set foot in Redwoods he was a sot." "And Nina?" "Don't try to see her," said Miss Shropshire, bluntly. "You would only be horrified,--you wouldn't recognise her if you met her on the street. She is breaking, fortunately. I saw her the other day, for the first time in two years, and she told me she was very ill." "Have you deserted her?" "Don't put it that way! I shall always love Nina Randolph, and I am often sick with pity. But she never comes here, and one _cannot_ go to Redwoods. It is said that the orgies there beggar description. Even the Hathaways, who are their nearest neighbours, never enter the gates. It is terrible! And if your letter had come six days earlier, it would all have been different. But she was born to bad luck." Thorpe rose. "Thank you," he said. "Are your sisters well? I shall be here only a few days longer, but I shall try to call again." She laid her hand on his arm. She had a sudden access of vision. "Don't try to see Nina," she said, impressively. "God forbid!" he said. VII