“I hardly think you could do anything so foolish as to contradict gossip, my dear Horace, unless you wish to revive it; but I will certainly tell you what the Lindleys told me, and doubtless Edith will find it easy to explain. She was found staying on the Lake of Como--at the same place, I believe, where your engagement took place--with a disreputable woman--a woman about whose career there was no shadow of doubt. The Lindleys knew all about her, and this woman and Miss Walton were requested to leave the hotel. The peculiar part of the whole story is that the aunt and Miss Walton’s maid left previously, having apparently discovered the character of Miss Walton’s companion, and leaving the niece alone with her. I told the Lindleys, of course, that there must be some perfectly obvious explanation, but the fact remains the girl never did come out, and that she and her aunt have traveled about more or less ever since. I am, I must confess, a little disappointed that you have not got an explanation for me.” “There will be no difficulty about that,” said Horace quietly. “None, of course,” said his sister in courteous agreement. Then there was a pause. Etta continued to embroider, but she felt flushed and uncomfortable. So far she had simply skirmished; the real battle lay ahead. She had counted on her brother opening the subject, but he opened nothing. He stood before the closed door of her future apparently with far more comfort and unconcern than she did. Even a clever woman is at a disadvantage with a silent man; she has no weapon to pierce his armor. Her final onslaught had not disconcerted him so much as she had hoped. Evidently she was going to have to deal with an intelligent woman; no mere fool could have won such entire confidence from her brother, and without any of the distortions of love. Miss Lestrange saw perfectly well that Horace was not in love with the girl; she had guessed this from his letter--but she knew it the moment she saw him. It gave her unconcealed satisfaction, but at the same time it was puzzling that he seemed unshaken after her little story; she was certain of all the facts. She knew the importance of the unembellished, and she never risked an exaggeration with her brother. Lestranges did not understand exaggeration--at least, the male branch never did; if they found you inaccurate they had a tiresome habit of never accepting what you said without proof. Horace had never found Etta inaccurate; he had only once or twice thought she was mistaken. Miss Lestrange fidgeted for a few minutes, then she said: “Do you think that a woman, however innocent, who is under such a cloud, is fit to be in the position of mother to Annette’s boy?” “I will make every inquiry,” said Horace reflectively, “and, by the bye, Etta, Flinders must go. I don’t approve of Flinders.”