"You have come to our help in this miserable business," she said. "I don't know what light, if any, is thrown on it by this extraordinary note." The note was written in an ill-formed, girlish hand, with spelling not above suspicion. "Dear Mrs Leigh," it ran, "There's no reason for Amethyst to be in a scrape. Dear old Tony has made pets of us always, and he kissed _me_ in the anti-room just for a spree. He'd _never_ kiss HER, I'm certain, so don't trouble yourself about it. "Sincerely yours,-- "Una Haredale." "Una!" cried Sylvester, as by Mrs Leigh's desire he read this extraordinary production, over Lucian's shoulder. "Is that possible? can we have been mistaken?" "I am certain of my own eyesight," said Mrs Leigh. "This is a pretence. Lady Haredale is capable of anything; I have no dependence on a word they say." And Lucian thought of the story of the purse, of the "Make up some story to tell him," that he had overheard--of what seemed to him the impossibility of mistaking Una for Amethyst--and was silent. "Don't you see?" said Sylvester hurriedly, "if this is so, all the rest goes for nothing--is easily explained by some one else's secret." "You must know whether it was Una that you saw," said Lucian, sullenly. "Certainly it was not," said Mrs Leigh. "Sylvester, you cannot think so." "You might ask her face to face," he said. "I cannot believe any of them!" said Mrs Leigh, with agitation. "If they confuse the evidence, till proof is impossible, I shall never feel confidence again. Lucian, my dear, dear boy, it is a heartbreaking business, but oh, don't you see that it is better to be warned in time?" "Hush, mother!" said Lucian, "not till we know. But--but I know that in justice to myself--to all of us, the truth must be made clear. But," he added again, "I was violent, and frightened her. Give me that note; I can have no one doubt that she will tell me the truth about it I shall go to her again." He looked very resolute and very wretched, and Sylvester felt that Amethyst's chance was small. "I shall go alone," said Lucian, "it is my own affair, and, mother, you must trust me to judge rightly." In the meantime Amethyst had not long remained crying in Una's arms. The instinct of self-preservation was strong within her. She would not go down in the whirlpool without a struggle. She got up and went resolutely to her mother, whom she found in her dressing-room, reading a note just received by the second post from Lord Haredale. The mother was not very sensitive, but she could hardly fail to feel the change from the loving deference, the admiring tenderness of her daughters manner, to the cold, sad, and half-contemptuous look with which Amethyst now faced her. "Mother," she said, "will you let me tell Lucian that I had to communicate a family secret to Major Fowler? There is no use in pretending that there is no mystery; but I do not wish the children to tell falsehoods on my account."