“You are a cruel, wicked woman to say a thing like that. You hate me because I love Alistair, and you know that he loves me. What do you want me to do?” The Duchess’s conscience smote her. She sat there unable to make a reply. After all, now that this wretched marriage had taken place, what did she want Alistair’s wife to do? Molly, unconscious of the difficulty, removed it by putting her question in a different form. “He came back to me of his own accord,” she sobbed. “I was living here--with my brother--and he came and asked me to marry him. What ought I to have done?” “You knew that such a marriage would be his ruin. You ought to have saved him from it, if you really did love him.” “And what about me?” moaned the dejected Molly. The Duchess felt a momentary shame. “There are Homes,” she said, with hesitation, “where women who desire to lead better lives are encouraged and trained to become useful members of society.” Molly sat up, and dashed away the tears that were making havoc of her rouge and powder. “And is that what you want to do to me? Put me into a reformatory, and cut my hair, and make me go about in a grey dress and an apron, saying ‘Ma’am’ to a lot of old maids who are too ugly themselves for any man to want them? and then get me a situation as a servant or something, where I should always be patronized and watched to see that I didn’t enjoy myself? No, thank you! I won’t go into your Home! I won’t--I won’t!” The Duchess rose to her feet slowly. “Some other time, when you are calmer----” she began. “I’m not going to be calm!” Molly cried fiercely. “And I’m not going to be good either--not in your way. Why should I? Why should I pretend to be ashamed of myself, and make long faces--repent, as you call it--to please you? I don’t want your good opinion. I never asked for it. All I want is for you to leave me alone. You think you are very good and gracious, I dare say, to talk to a girl like me. I don’t see it. If you really wanted to be kind, you would be kind to me now, as I am. It is easy enough to forgive people when they have left off doing what you don’t like; the thing is to forgive them while they are still doing it. If I joined the Salvation Army, and wore a poke-bonnet, you would have nothing to say against me. Bah! You’re like all the rest; I know you. Get us to go down at your feet and be miserable, and then you take credit for forgiving us. And that’s what you call Christianity!” The Duchess had stumbled to the door and escaped before Molly lost her breath. Alistair’s mother tottered down the yard, too much agitated to remember her pensioners, and Alistair’s wife lay on the high-art settle, with the copper pans gleaming down at her, and wept as if her heart would break. CHAPTER XXI THE HOUSE OF CATILINE AMONG those friends of Lord Alistair’s who did not neglect him in his fallen state was the moving spirit of the Legitimist Guild.