"You ought to be in bed," said Catharine, retaining her hand. The girl's ignorance of all that others knew affected her strangely--produced a great softness and compunction. "I shouldn't sleep. I wonder when I shall get a decent amount of sleep again!" said Hester, pressing back the hair from her cheeks. Then she turned sharply on her visitor: "Of course you know, Mrs. Elsmere, that I am simply being sent away--in disgrace." "I know"--Catharine smiled, though her tone was grave--"that those who love you think there ought to be a change." "That's a nice way of putting it--a real gentlemanly way," said Hester, swaying backward and forward, her hands round her knees. "But all the same it's true. They're sending me away because they don't know what I'll do next. They think I'll do something abominable." The girl's eyes sparkled. "Why will you give your guardians this anxiety?" asked Catharine, not without severity. "They are never at rest about you. My dear--they only wish your good." Hester laughed. She threw out a careless hand and laid it on Catharine's knee. "Isn't it odd, Mrs. Elsmere, that you don't know anything about me, though--you won't mind, will you?--though you're so kind to me, and I do like you so. But you can't know anything, can you, about girls--like me?" And looking up from where she lay deep in the armchair, she turned half-mocking eyes on her companion. "I don't know--perhaps--about girls like you," said Catharine, smiling, and shyly touching the hand on her knee. "But I live half my life--with girls." "Oh--poor girls? Girls in factories--girls that wear fringes, and sham pearl beads, and six ostrich feathers in their hats on Sundays? No, I don't think I'm like them. If I were they, I shouldn't care about feathers or the sham pearls. I should be more likely to try and steal some real ones! No, but I mean really girls like me--rich girls, though of course I'm not rich--but you understand? Do you know any girls who gamble and paint--their faces I mean--and let men lend them money, and pay for their dresses?" Hester sat up defiantly, looking at her companion. "No, I don't know any of that kind," said Catharine quietly. "I'm old-fashioned, you see--they wouldn't want to know me." Hester's mouth twitched. "Well, I'm not that kind exactly! I don't paint because--well, I suppose I needn't! And I don't play for money, because I've nobody to play with. As for letting men lend you money--" "That you would never disgrace yourself by doing!" said Catharine sharply. Hester's look was enigmatic. "Well, I never did it. But I knew a girl in London--very pretty--and as mad as you like. She was an orphan and her relatives didn't care twopence about her. She got into debt, and a horrid old man offered to lend her a couple of hundred pounds if she'd give him a kiss. She said no, and then she told an older woman who was supposed to look after her. And what do you suppose she said?" Catharine was silent.