“Fiddlesticks!” exclaimed Jane, contemptuously. “Nothing in the world would induce me to marry one of those men--or any other. Freedom is the breath of life to me, Billie, but I must have my little recreations. You can’t understand--no man can--how flirting to a woman is a justifiable evening up of the sufferings that some women have to endure. Why, I’m leading Jack Maitland an awful existence because he flirted desperately with Betty Lockwood, who loves him to distraction. I’m doing it for Betty’s sake, and it’s good for him. Betty married Maurice just out of pique.” Jane put down her cup. “I’m really trying to do good, in my own way, Billie.” “You should join the Humane Society,” observed Mr. Scott, sarcastically. “The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children will rescue you from my clutches if you persist in coming here all the time,” she retorted, severely. “I’ll tell you what I am going to do”--changing the subject, swiftly. “I’ll answer the Willoughby epistle in person. I’ll go down to Rosemount to-morrow and tell them things that I hope will do them good. I do not intend to reduce my bills, or live with them. Whenever I get a letter from them like this last one, I go out and buy something.” “What did you buy yesterday?” queried Mr. Scott, with lively interest. “A pair of high-boys--genuine colonials! I’ve no place for them here, of course, but the Willoughbys needed them for a lesson.” “Let me drive you down to Rosemount in my car,” said Mr. Scott, with sudden inspiration. “Um--I’d like the car and the chauffeur, but you, Billie, cannot come. It might cause gossip.” “Let ’em talk, who cares?” exclaimed Mr. Scott, defiantly. “I do,” said Jane, decidedly. “No, you can’t come, Billie, but if you’ll have the car here to-morrow, at ten, I’ll drive down in it, stay all night, and come back the next day.” “I’m afraid they’ll persuade you to live with them,” murmured Mr. Scott, miserably. “To think that you would say that to me,” said Jane, reproachfully. “I intend to live alone from this time on. I hate living with anybody.” “Wait until you’re in love!” warned Billie. “Yes, I’ll wait,” responded his hostess, briskly. “A woman who has had my luck would be an ungrateful wretch if she permitted herself to become entangled again. Why, it isn’t one woman in ten who marries for money whose husband dies in two years. No wonder I’ve clung to deep mourning. It’s an expression of thankfulness--of the warmest gratitude on my part. No one can say of me, Billie, that I do not realize my blessings!” Mr. Scott rose and tried to kiss Jane’s hand, but she put it determinedly behind her. “Respect my mourning, my child,” she said, rebukingly. After Mr. Scott had taken his departure, she ordered two suit cases packed, gave orders to her two servants about the care of the apartment during her absence, and telegraphed a lengthy message to the Willoughbys. CHAPTER III.