But the tiny purple scented things fluttered to the ground, the very flood-gates of her heart opened, she sobbed on Mrs. Trelane’s shoulder, torn with her grief. “Oh, if I could go, too!” she moaned. “Father, father, if I could go, too.” Mrs. Trelane caught the girl to her. “Darling, don’t cry like that; please don’t!” she said authoritatively. “Come with me; come to Ismay.” She cast an indignant look at Marcus Wray. Why did he harrow the girl with his lies? “Don’t let him go,” Cristiane gasped. “I want to ask him something.” “I will wait.” Marcus Wray’s voice and glance turned Mrs. Trelane’s indignation to terror. Somehow she got Cristiane up-stairs, with the aid of Jessie, who was all sympathy at the quick words Mrs. Trelane whispered. “My lamb, you must rest!” the woman said pityingly. “You shall see the gentleman to-morrow. Come with Jessie now.” As the girl went to her room, worn out, Mrs. Trelane forgot to send Ismay to soothe her; forgot everything on earth but Marcus Wray. Cristiane was out of the way; it did not matter where Ismay was. She little knew how those early morning inspections of Ismay’s had familiarized her with every room and nook and passage of the house. Nor that a door opening into the library from the drawing-room was masked by bookshelves on one side and curtains on the other, and had warped so that it could never be quite closed from the weight of the shelves on it. But Ismay knew! Crouched tailor-fashion on the floor, she had heard from her hiding-place every word of Marcus Wray’s, and her quick brain was working, as she waited for her mother’s return, like a detective’s on a clue. “It was not to tell Cristiane that drivel that he came,” she thought nervously, almost afraid to breathe, lest his quick ears should know it. “There’s something more. Oh, I wish mother had listened to me and never gone to Lord Abbotsford’s.” Her mother’s voice cut on her ears as the door from the hall closed behind her. “You have nearly killed the girl with your lies,” she cried. “Why couldn’t you come and ask for me, instead of playing a game like that? I know quite well you came to see me.” “You are--partially--right!” Cristiane would not have recognized the voice, so slow and insulting. “I did come to see you. But I did not tell lies, but truth--embroidered.” “You knew I was here,” she retorted angrily. “You did!” “I did”--with amused mockery. “Then what do you want of me? Do your worst and go. I tell you I will not live like this, to be bullied by you!” “Whom once you bullied,” the man answered quietly. “Sit down, Helen, and don’t scream your conversation. I am here as your friend.” “My friend! How?” But Ismay heard the soft rustle of silks as Mrs. Trelane sat down. “I’ll tell you, only listen and be quiet. I was with Sir Gaspard in Paris, but by chance, as a lawyer, not as his friend. Do you understand?”