"My own, I guess it all. It is a hard battle when such as you and I have to fight against principalities and powers. I fear we are not cool and crafty enough to hold our own. God knows how it will all end--and when. The sooner, perhaps the better for you. But if they would only let _you_ alone, darling! It has been my fault from the first, and I ought to have all the trouble and pain. But indeed, now, I have done my best. I burnt the letter unread, and I have written six lines to tell Mrs. Lenox so. Now, we won't speak of it any more just now. There can be no repetition of _this_ annoyance, at all events. Will you tell Aunt Mildred what I have done? _I_ had better not enter into the subject with her, that's certain." Wyverne's perfect sincerity carried all before it, for the moment; when he left her, Helen felt happier than she had done for days. Even had it been otherwise, of course she would have made the best of it to her mother. It is the woman's way, you know--at least till, with middle age, wisdom has waxed and passionate affection has waned--if in anywise maltreated by her lover, she will make her moan loudly enough to _him_, but she will tax her little ingenuity to the utmost, to palliate that same offence to her nearest and dearest friend. It was well that Helen's spirits were high, when she went to her audience in the boudoir; certes she reaped small encouragement there. Lady Mildred was by no means disposed to be enthusiastic or unreserved in her trustfulness, and, indeed, hinted her doubts and fears and general disapprobation, much more plainly than she had hitherto done. She believed Alan _now_, of course, but she could not help thinking that the relations between him and Mrs. Lenox must have been far more intimate than she had had any idea of. It would have been much more satisfactory if he could have opened the letter and shown it to Helen. So he had written to say what he had done? That was right, at all events. (What made "my lady" smile so meaningly just then?) But every day made her more fearful about the future. "I ought to have been firmer at first, darling," she murmured. The look of self-reproach was a study, and the penitential sigh rightly executed to a breath. "It is not that I doubt Alan's meaning fairly; indeed, I believe he does his best; but when a man has lived that wild life, old connexions are very difficult to shake off; sometimes it is years before he is quite free. You don't understand these things; but I do, my Helen, and I know how you would suffer. You are not cold-blooded enough to be patient or prudent. Even now, see how unhappy you have been at times lately. I was very weak and very wrong."