“Unless?” echoed Mrs. Peniston. Her visitor drew breath nervously. It was agreeable to shock Mrs. Peniston, but not to shock her to the verge of anger. Miss Stepney was not sufficiently familiar with the classic drama to have recalled in advance how bearers of bad tidings are proverbially received, but she now had a rapid vision of forfeited dinners and a reduced wardrobe as the possible consequence of her disinterestedness. To the honour of her sex, however, hatred of Lily prevailed over more personal considerations. Mrs. Peniston had chosen the wrong moment to boast of her niece’s charms. “Unless,” said Grace, leaning forward to speak with low-toned emphasis, “unless there are material advantages to be gained by making herself agreeable to him.” She felt that the moment was tremendous, and remembered suddenly that Mrs. Peniston’s black brocade, with the cut jet fringe, would have been hers at the end of the season. Mrs. Peniston put down her work again. Another aspect of the same idea had presented itself to her, and she felt that it was beneath her dignity to have her nerves racked by a dependent relative who wore her old clothes. “If you take pleasure in annoying me by mysterious insinuations,” she said coldly, “you might at least have chosen a more suitable time than just as I am recovering from the strain of giving a large dinner.” The mention of the dinner dispelled Miss Stepney’s last scruples. “I don’t know why I should be accused of taking pleasure in telling you about Lily. I was sure I shouldn’t get any thanks for it,” she returned with a flare of temper. “But I have some family feeling left, and as you are the only person who has any authority over Lily, I thought you ought to know what is being said of her.” “Well,” said Mrs. Peniston, “what I complain of is that you haven’t told me yet what IS being said.” “I didn’t suppose I should have to put it so plainly. People say that Gus Trenor pays her bills.” “Pays her bills—her bills?” Mrs. Peniston broke into a laugh. “I can’t imagine where you can have picked up such rubbish. Lily has her own income—and I provide for her very handsomely—” “Oh, we all know that,” interposed Miss Stepney drily. “But Lily wears a great many smart gowns—” “I like her to be well-dressed—it’s only suitable!” “Certainly; but then there are her gambling debts besides.” Miss Stepney, in the beginning, had not meant to bring up this point; but Mrs. Peniston had only her own incredulity to blame. She was like the stiff-necked unbelievers of Scripture, who must be annihilated to be convinced. “Gambling debts? Lily?” Mrs. Peniston’s voice shook with anger and bewilderment. She wondered whether Grace Stepney had gone out of her mind. “What do you mean by her gambling debts?” “Simply that if one plays bridge for money in Lily’s set one is liable to lose a great deal—and I don’t suppose Lily always wins.” “Who told you that my niece played cards for money?”