“That man who went out--he’s going to be married. And I, like a fool, thought he meant to marry me!” “Can’t you get something out of him?” “I meant to marry him, I tell you”--roughly. “Those things are all he ever gave me.” She pointed to the cast-off rings on the Moorish table. “What do you mean about starving?” Ismay asked. “Haven’t you any money? Have you”--deliberately--“spent it all on him?”--with a nod toward the door by which Lord Abbotsford had departed. Mrs. Trelane moaned. “I thought it wouldn’t matter. I thought he meant to marry me,” she said faintly. “That was why I kept you out of the way; I didn’t want him to know how old I was till it was all settled. And now”--she flung her hands out angrily--“I will pay him for it all if I kill him!” “You can sell these things,” Ismay said quickly, looking round her at the costly furniture, the many ornaments. “There is a bill of sale on them already,” the woman said dryly, and speaking perfectly openly, as if to another woman of her own age and not to her daughter. It was a relief to speak out; she forgot how she had treated the girl since her return, how she had neglected her for the prospect of a rich marriage. “But I’ll get something out of Abbotsford somehow, even if I have to call it a loan,” she added. “I wouldn’t ever speak to him again,” Ismay remarked scornfully. “And why didn’t you bring me home from school long ago, if you’d no money?” “Because”--with absolute truth--“I didn’t want a grown-up girl about.” For a moment the two pairs of eyes met; then the girl shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I’m here, and I’ll have to stay,” she retorted. “As for Lord Abbotsford, you’re well rid of him. But I suppose you don’t think so. Can I take this candle? There’s no light up-stairs, and I want to go to bed.” Mrs. Trelane was utterly taken aback by the matter-of-fact conclusion. Somehow Ismay seemed years older to-night, and she had no clue to what had worked the miracle. She pushed a candlestick over to her without answering, and not a word did the girl breathe of where and how she had spent her evening. CHAPTER III. THE ROSE-COLORED ROOM. “Look.” Mrs. Trelane’s face was radiant as she threw a note across the luncheon-table to Ismay the next day. It was from Lord Abbotsford. “Look, he wants to see me this afternoon. He’s ill, can’t come out, and he’s sent me this latch-key so that I can go in without his man seeing me. He must be going to do something for me.” “Will you go? I wouldn’t,” Ismay said slowly. She was weary from a stormy morning; sickened by the abuse of the two maid servants who had smelled disaster and departed after vainly demanding their wages. “Go! What else should I do?” Mrs. Trelane seized the note again and rose to leave the room. “Three o’clock, he says, and it’s two now. I’ll go and dress.” “Where does he live?” the girl asked idly, yet with intention. Somehow she did not like this expedition. “Not far; he has a house in Onslow Place.”