“Didn’t you know they were closeted together for hours in the smoking-room after you went upstairs? My man didn’t get to bed until nearly two o’clock and when he did I couldn’t get a word out of him. When he wants to be aggravating I’ll back him against anybody living!” Her teeth and eyes flashed persuasively upon Lydia. “But you’ll tell me what they were talking about, won’t you? I know I can trust you--you look so awfully kind. And it’s for his own good. He’s such a precious donkey and I’m so afraid he’s got into some beastly scrape or other. If he’d only trust his own old woman! But they’re always writing to him and setting him against me. And I’ve got nobody to turn to.” She laid her hand on Lydia’s with a rattle of bracelets. “You’ll help me, won’t you?” Lydia drew back from the smiling fierceness of her brows. “I’m sorry--but I don’t think I understand. My husband has said nothing to me of--of yours.” The great black crescents above Mrs. Linton’s eyes met angrily. “I say--is that true?” she demanded. Lydia rose from her seat. “Oh, look here, I didn’t mean that, you know--you mustn’t take one up so! Can’t you see how rattled I am?” Lydia saw that, in fact, her beautiful mouth was quivering beneath softened eyes. “I’m beside myself!” the splendid creature wailed, dropping into her seat. “I’m so sorry,” Lydia repeated, forcing herself to speak kindly; “but how can I help you?” Mrs. Linton raised her head sharply. “By finding out--there’s a darling!” “Finding what out?” “What Trevenna told him.” “Trevenna--?” Lydia echoed in bewilderment. Mrs. Linton clapped her hand to her mouth. “Oh, Lord--there, it’s out! What a fool I am! But I supposed of course you knew; I supposed everybody knew.” She dried her eyes and bridled. “Didn’t you know that he’s Lord Trevenna? I’m Mrs. Cope.” Lydia recognized the names. They had figured in a flamboyant elopement which had thrilled fashionable London some six months earlier. “Now you see how it is--you understand, don’t you?” Mrs. Cope continued on a note of appeal. “I knew you would--that’s the reason I came to you. I suppose _he_ felt the same thing about your husband; he’s not spoken to another soul in the place.” Her face grew anxious again. “He’s awfully sensitive, generally--he feels our position, he says--as if it wasn’t _my_ place to feel that! But when he does get talking there’s no knowing what he’ll say. I know he’s been brooding over something lately, and I _must_ find out what it is--it’s to his interest that I should. I always tell him that I think only of his interest; if he’d only trust me! But he’s been so odd lately--I can’t think what he’s plotting. You will help me, dear?” Lydia, who had remained standing, looked away uncomfortably. “If you mean by finding out what Lord Trevenna has told my husband, I’m afraid it’s impossible.” “Why impossible?” “Because I infer that it was told in confidence.” Mrs. Cope stared incredulously.