Only two people were in the library, Lord Charvington and his wife. The former was walking to and fro with a worried expression on his kind face, but the latter seated in an arm-chair near the window looked red with anger and apparently had been engaged in a furious argument: "If you don't tell, I shall," she was saying when Lesbia entered. "You shall say nothing," said Lord Charvington sternly. "Hold your tongue as you have done. Hitherto you have displayed sense in keeping silence and in silencing Bertha. Continue to behave and----" "Here's the girl," snapped Lady Charvington, interrupting as Lesbia came silently into the room and closed the door. "Why do you speak of me in that way?" asked Lesbia, up in arms at once. Knowing herself innocent, she did not intend to stand insult. "You will soon learn," retorted the other, curling her lip. "I wonder you are not ashamed of yourself. And after all my kindness too, and my----" "Silence, Helen," said Lord Charvington imperiously. "How dare you talk to Miss Hale so insolently?" "Miss Hale," sneered his wife. "Why not call her Lesbia, as you have done?" "I have every right to; she is my cousin." Lord Charvington made an angry gesture to impose silence on his indignant wife, and turned to the girl who stood pale and motionless. "My poor Lesbia, don't look so woe-begone. I will stand by you whatever my wife may say." "What does she say?" asked Lesbia quietly. "You had better hear her when she is more composed," said Lord Charvington with a glance at his wife, thereby arousing her to fresh fury. "She will probably say something in the heat of the moment for which she will be sorry. Helen, had you not better go and lie down?" Lady Charvington arose with a red spot burning on either cheek, and her eyes glittered like those of an angry cat. "How dare you speak to me like this in my own house, Charvington?" she cried in a shrill voice. "I don't leave this room until you turn that shameless girl out of doors." "What do you mean?" demanded Lesbia indignantly; but with a sinking heart. "Mean," screamed the infuriated woman; "I mean that Bertha heard you calling the masked man who attacked you, 'Father!' And you cannot deny it. See, Charvington," she pointed tauntingly to the agonised girl, "she dare not deny it. Oh you--you daughter of a thief; you accomplice of a thief." "Helen, Helen; be silent." "I shall not be silent. When Bertha told me the truth I ordered her to hold her tongue until you returned, Charvington. I have held my peace myself and neither the police nor the servants nor our friends know that this horrid girl is the daughter of a thief. Why you take such an interest in the minx I don't know, but surely after what we have discovered you will pack her off to gaol."