"My _dear_ Mr. Ollerenshaw," she said, in the kindest manner conceivable, "how I sympathise with you! How I wish I could help you!" Her sympathy was a genuine comfort to him. He did not, in that instant, care a fig for Helen's notion about the direction of caps. He was simply and humanly eased by the sweet tones of this ample and comely dame. Besides, the idea of a woman such as Mrs. Prockter marrying a man such as him was (he knew) preposterous. She belonged to a little world which called him "Jimmy," whereas he belonged to a little world of his own. True, he was wealthy; but she was not poor--and no amount of money (he thought) could make a bridge to join those two worlds. Nevertheless, here she was, talking to him alone at ten o'clock at night--and not for the first time, either! Obviously, then, there was no nonsense about _her_, whatever nonsensical world she belonged to. She ran over with sympathy. Having no further fear of Helen making trouble in her own family, she had all her feelings at liberty to condone with James. The candle, throwing a small hemisphere of feeble radiance in the vastness of the dim hall, sat on its chair between them. "I _can_ help you," she said, suddenly, after grunts from James. "I'm calling on the Swetnams the day after to-morrow. I'll tell them about--about to-day, and when Mrs. Swetnam asks me for an explanation of it, I will be mysterious. If Lilian is there, Mrs. Swetnam will certainly get her out of the room. Then I will just give the faintest hint that the explanation is merely jealousy between Emanuel and Mr. Dean concerning--a certain young lady. I shall treat it all as a joke; you can rely on me. Immediately I am gone Lilian will hear about it. She will quarrel with Andrew the next time she sees him; and if he _wishes_ to be free, he may be." She smiled the arch, naughty, pleasantly-malign smile of a terribly experienced dowager. And she seemed positively anxious that James should have Andrew Dean for a son-in-law. James, in his simplicity, was delighted. It appeared to him a Mephistophelian ingenuity. He thought how clever women were, on their own ground, and what an advantage they had in their immense lack of scruple. "Of course," said she, "I have always said that a marriage between Andrew Dean and Lilian would be a mistake--a very serious mistake. They are quite unsuited to each other. She isn't in love with him--she's only been flattered by his attentions into drawing him on. I feel sorry for the little thing." At a stroke, she had converted a shameful conspiracy into an act of the highest virtue. And her smile changed, too--became a _good_ smile, a smile on which a man might depend. His heart went out to her, and he contemplated the smile in a pleased, beatific silence. Just then the candle--a treacherous thing--flamed up and went out. "Oh!" cried Mrs. Prockter.