Mrs. Pocklington had conveyed to her daughter, with all delicacy requisite and imaginable, the new phase of the affair. It shocked and distressed her to allude to such things; but Laura was a woman now, and must know--and so forth. And Laura heard it all with no apparent shock--nay, with a calmness approaching levity; and when she was told that all communications between herself and George must cease, she shook her pretty head and retired to her bedroom, neither accepting nor protesting against the decision. The next morning after breakfast she appeared, equipped for a walk, holding a letter in her hand. Mrs. Pocklington had ordered her household, and had now sat down to a comfortable hour with a novel before luncheon. _Dis aliter visum._ "I am going out, mamma," Laura began, "to post this note to Mr. Neston." Mrs. Pocklington never made mistakes in the etiquette of names, and assumed a like correctness in others. She imagined her daughter referred to Gerald. "Why need you write to him?" she asked, looking up. "He's nothing more than an acquaintance." "Mamma! He's an intimate friend." "Gerald Neston an intimate friend! Why----" "I mean Mr. George Neston," said Laura, in a calm voice, but with a slight blush. "George!" exclaimed Mrs. Pocklington. "What in the world do you want to write to George Neston for? I have said all that is necessary." "I thought I should like to say something too." "My dear, certainly not. If you had been--if there had been anything actually arranged, perhaps a line from you would have been right; though, under the circumstances, I doubt it. As it is, for you to write would simply be to give him a chance of reopening the acquaintance." Laura did not sit down, but stood by the door, prodding the carpet with the point of her parasol. "Is the acquaintance closed?" she asked, after a pause. "You remember, surely, what I said yesterday? I hope it's not necessary to repeat it." "Oh no, mamma; I remember it." Laura paused, gave the carpet another prod, and went on, "I'm just writing to say I don't believe a word of it." "Jack's Darling" fell from Mrs. Pocklington's paralysed grasp. "Laura, how dare you? It is enough for you that I have decided what is to be done." "You see, mamma, when everybody is turning against him, I want to show him he has one friend, at least, who doesn't believe these hateful stories." "I wonder you haven't more self-respect. Considering what is said about him and Neaera Witt----" "Oh, bother Mrs. Witt!" said Laura, actually smiling. "Really, mamma, it's nonsense; he doesn't care that for Neaera Witt!" And she tried to snap her fingers; but, happily for Mrs. Pocklington's nerves, the attempt was a failure. "I shall not argue with you, Laura. You will obey me, and there is an end of it." "You told me I was a woman yesterday. If I am, I ought to be allowed to judge for myself. Anyhow, you ought to hear what I have to say." "Give me that letter, Laura."