"You remember what we talked of this afternoon. I told you that I thought your manner with Sir Nugent Evershed was a little different from your manner with other people, and apt to invite observation on that account. I tell you frankly, Florence, that your manner and his manner to-night _did_ attract observation, and that some of your guests spoke of you as they had no right to speak. People are very incautious in a crowded room, and one hears things that are not intended to be heard." To Cecil's surprise her friend burst into a laugh--a clear silvery peal of laughter, which would have been charming if it had not been in such strange discord with the occasion. "And so people have begun to talk of me?" she said. "I dare say they have talked enough of Mr. Lobyer and Miss de Raymond; and now I suppose they will talk of me and Sir Nugent Evershed." "Florence, for Heaven's sake don't talk like that!" "How would you have me talk? Am I to submit tamely to my wrongs? If my husband outrages me, I will outrage him. Why, those ignorant country people could give me the clue to Mr. Lobyer's indifference. They know that my husband devotes his life to another woman--and has only married me because he wants some one to sit at the head of his table who does not smoke or swear or paint herself red and white, like Miss de Raymond. He likes the smoking and the swearing and the red and white paint, you know; and I have no doubt he thinks me a horribly insipid creature; but society is not yet so advanced that he can afford to place a Miss de Raymond at the head of his table. That will come in due course." "Florence, you must not speak of things in this way. I know, dear, that your position is a most painful one, and I can only think of one thing that you can do to lessen its misery." "And what is that?" "Write to your father, telling him every thing, or beg him to come to you. He is the only person you can safely trust with the secret you have so unhappily discovered."