“Ah! but you know the reason of his sudden departure!” cried Margaret, her soft eyes welling over with tears. “My dear Mrs. Pullen,” said Anthony Pennell, sympathetically, “even at that sad moment, Ralph might have sent a telegram, or scratched a line of apology. We have to attend to such little courtesies, you know, even if our hearts are breaking! And how can you excuse his not having called on them, or written since? No wonder the Baroness is angry. She did not restrain her tongue in speaking of him yesterday. She said she never wished to see his face again.” “Does she know that Elinor went to the Red House?” “I think not! There was no mention of her name!” “Then I suppose we may at all events consider the affair _une chose finie_?” “I hope so, sincerely! I should not advise Master Ralph to show his face at the Red House again. The Baroness said she longed to lay her stick across his back, and I believe she is quite capable of doing so!” “Oh! indeed she is,” replied Margaret, smiling, “we heard a great many stories of her valour in that respect from Madame Lamont, the landlady of the Lion d’Or. Has Miss Brandt taken up her residence altogether with Madame Gobelli?” “I think not! She told me her life there was very dull, and she should like to change it.” “She is in a most unfortunate position for a young girl,” remarked Margaret, “left parentless, with money at her command, and in a strange country! And with the strange stigma attached to her birth--” “I don’t believe in stigmas being attached to one’s birth,” returned Pennell hastily, “the only stigmas worth thinking about, are those we bring upon ourselves by our misconduct--such a one, for instance, as my cousin Ralph has done with regard to Miss Brandt! I would rather be in her shoes than his. Ralph thinks, perhaps, that being a stranger and friendless she is fair game--” “Who is that, taking my name in vain?” interrupted a languid voice at the open door, as Captain Pullen advanced into the room. Margaret Pullen started and grew very red at being detected in discussing her brother-in-law’s actions, but Anthony Pennell, who was always ruffled by his cousin’s affected walk and drawl, blurted the truth right out. “_I_ was,” he replied, hardly touching the hand which Captain Pullen extended to him, “I was just telling Mrs. Pullen of the high estimation in which your name is held at the Red House!” It was now Ralph’s turn to grow red. His fair face flushed from chin to brow, as he repeated, “The Red House! what Red House?” “Did they not mention the name to you? I mean the residence of Madame Gobelli. I was dining there yesterday.” “Dining there, were you? By Jove! I didn’t know you were acquainted with the woman. Isn’t she a queer old party? Baroness Boots, eh? Fancy your knowing them! I thought you were a cut above that, Anthony!”