Then--Wilmington as a friend!--upon that theme indeed Madeleine had used her brightest colours. And to make this passive listener understand what friendship meant in Wilmington's soul, it had been necessary for the speaker to tell her own story, as much at least as it was possible for her to tell, and Delia to hear. A hasty marriage--"my own fault, my dear, as much as my parents'!"--twelve years of torment and humiliation at the hands of a bad man, descending rapidly to the pit, and quite willing to drag his wife and child with him, ending in a separation largely arranged by Winnington--and then-- "We retired, Nora and I, on a decent allowance, my own money really, only like a fool, I had let it all get into Alfred's hands. We took a house at Richmond. Nora was fifteen. For two years my husband paid the money. Then he wrote to say he was tired of doing without his daughter, and he required her to live with him for six months in the year, as a condition of continuing the allowance. I refused. We would sooner both of us have thrown ourselves into the Thames. Alfred blustered and threatened--but he could do nothing--except cut off the allowance, which he did, at once. Then Mark Winnington found me the cottage here, and made everything smooth for us. I wouldn't take any money from him, though he was abominably ready to give it us! But he got me lessons--he got me friends. He's made everybody here feel for us, and respect us. He's managed the little bits of property we've got left--he's watched over Nora--he's been our earthly Providence--and we both adore him!" On which the speaker, with a flickering smile and tear-dashed eyes, had taken Delia's face in her two slender hands-- "And don't be such a fool, dear, as to imagine there's been anything in it, ever, but the purest friendship and good-heartedness that ever bound three people together! My greatest joy would be to see him married--to a woman worthy of him--if there is one! And he I suppose will find his reward in marrying Nora--to some nice fellow. He begins to match-make for her already." Delia slowly withdrew herself. "And he himself doesn't intend to marry?" She asked the question, clasping her long arms round her knees, as she sat on the floor, her dark eyes--defiantly steady on her guest's face. Lady Tonbridge could hear her own answer. "L'homme propose! Let the right woman try!" Whereupon Delia, a delicious figure, in a slim white dressing-gown, a flood of curly brown hair falling about her neck and shoulders, had sprung up, and bidden her guest a hasty good-night. One other small incident she recalled. _A propos_ of some anxious calculation made by Winnington's sister Alice Matheson one day in talk with Lady Tonbridge--Delia being present--as to whether Mark could possibly afford a better motor than the "ramshackle little horror" he was at present dependent on, Delia had said abruptly, on the departure of Mrs. Matheson--