"You realize, Annette," she said at last, "that you can't go on living at Riff now you know who the Manvers are?" "I was afraid you would say that." "But surely you see it for yourself, whether I say it or not?" Annette did not answer. "There are no two ways about it. You must break with the Manvers root and branch." Annette coloured painfully. "Must I?" "Doesn't your own common sense, if you would only use it, tell you the same?" "I am very fond of Janey Manvers." "That can't be helped." "You see," said Annette slowly, "Janey and Roger are the two people I like best anywhere, except you. You don't know," turning her grave eyes to her companion, "how good they are." "I never like people myself because they are good." "No, I know. And it's very lucky for me you don't. And then, I dare say, you have always known numbers of good people. But it's different for me. I haven't. I've never been with good people except Aunt Cathie and you." "If the sacred Miss Nevills could hear you now!" "I used to think I hated goodness. But I see now that it was the theory of it, the talking about it, that sickened me. Janey and Roger never talk about it. And then, when I had broken away from the aunts and went to Paris, the life there was really evil under a thin veil which soon got torn. And then I came here, and met Janey and Roger, and got to know them well." "He is Mr. Le Geyt's younger brother, I suppose?" "No, first cousin." "That short-nosed, sunburnt, silent man we met at the bridge yesterday?" "Yes." "I liked his looks." "He is straight," said Annette, "and so is Janey. I always think of them together, because they are so alike. They might be brother and sister, and I'm sure they are as fond of each other as if they were. They aren't clever, of course, like you and Mr. Stirling, but then I'm not clever myself. They are just the kind of people I like." "My poor child, I am afraid you must give them up." "I'd rather give up anybody than them, except you." "It isn't a question of what you'd rather do or not do. Now you know who they are, you cannot continue on terms of friendship with them. I don't want to force my will upon you. I only want to advise you for the best. Don't you see for yourself, without my insisting on it, that you will involve yourself in an impossible situation if you continue your friendship with them? If I were not here to point that out, surely, _surely_ you could see it for yourself? Annette, if I were not here, if you had no one to advise you, what _would_ you do?" "I would tell them," said Annette. "I won't, because I've promised you not to tell anyone, but if I were----" "Free?" suggested Mrs. Stoddart. "Yes, if I were free, I should tell them both." Mrs. Stoddart let her knitting fall into her lap, and stared at her companion. "And what good, in the name of fortune, would come of that?"