“Oh, Auntie, didn’t you hear?” (She had heard, you know. I had seen her shrinking back when Anita screamed at her, with that dreadful shrinking that you see in an animal threatened by a head-blow. She had been leaning forward, and eager. She must have heard.) “Hear? They all talk,” she quavered. “‘Be quiet,’ says Anita. Ah, I’ve spoilt her. Now Madala——What’s the time, my dear? Why don’t she come?” “Auntie—Auntie——” “Eh?” she said. “Why don’t Madala come?” “Auntie—you’ve forgotten. She’s been ill.” “Ah—and she’ll be worse before she’s better,” said Great-aunt briskly. “’Sh! Listen to my daughter.” We listened: at least, I listened. Great-aunt cocked her head on one side, still as a bird, for a minute; then, like a bird, she was re-assured and fell to her knitting again. Anita and Mr. Flood were quarrelling. “Why shouldn’t I? Tell me that! Is anyone better fitted? Who knows as much about her as I do? Didn’t I discover her, hacking on two pounds a week? Didn’t I recognize what she was? Who sent her to Mitchell and Bent? Who introduced her everywhere? Who bullied her into writing _Ploughed Fields_? Who was the best friend she ever had—even if I didn’t make the parade of being fond of her that——Oh, I’ve no patience! What would the world know of Madala Grey if it weren’t for me?” “But—oh, of course we all know how good you were to her, Miss Serle, indeed I can guess by what you’ve done for me——” began the Baxter girl. Mr. Flood’s tongue tip showed between his red lips. I think he would have made some comment but for the hand pressing on his shoulder. “But——?” said the woman behind the hand. “I only mean—‘genius will out,’ won’t it?” “Genius? Big word!” said Miss Howe. “Not too big.” The Baxter girl reddened enthusiastically. “‘Genius will out?’ Not Madala Grey’s. She didn’t know she had any. I don’t believe she ever fully realized——Why, it was the merest chance that _Eden Walls_ didn’t go into the fire. If it hadn’t been for me—if it hadn’t been for me——” “Ah—_you_!” Miss Howe squared up to her. “Now just what (among friends) have you stood to gain? Fond of her? Oh yes, you were, Anita! Don’t tell me! But in spite of yourself, eh? But that wasn’t what you were after. You didn’t get the pleasure out of her that—I did, for instance. You used to exhaust Madala. I’ve seen you do it. You—you drained her.” “Yes, I did. I meant to,” said Anita with her laugh. “Pleasure!” “And she thought you were fond of her. She used to flare if anyone attacked you. Poor Madala!” “Poor? Why? I shall give it all back.” Anita gave her a long cool look. “I—I hate debts,” said Anita. Miss Howe flushed brightly. “If you were cursed with the artistic temperament——” She broke off and began again. “If I were a poor devil of a Bohemian in a hole, it’s not to you I’d go——” “—twice!” said Anita. Again they eyed each other. Miss Howe, still flushing, chose her words.