"Well, then, I just wish you wouldn't," he said testily. "It's bad enough to have to bear the relationship, without having you come here." "Frank!--dear Frank!" "There, don't `dear Frank' me. I should have thought, after what had occurred, you would have been ashamed to show your face here again." "Frank dear, we are brother and sister; for pity's sake, spare me. Is it the duty of a gentleman to speak to me like this?" She looked at him with a pitying dread in her eyes, as she thought of the horror hanging over his house. His allusions were keen enough, but they were blunt arrows compared to the bolts that threatened to fall upon his home; and, in her desire to shield him and his wife, if possible, from some of the suffering that must come, she scarcely felt their points. "Gentleman, eh? You behave like a lady, don't you? Nice position we hold in society through you and the old man, don't we? I'll be off abroad, that's what I'll do, and take May away from the old connection." "Yes, do!" cried Claire excitedly. "Do, Frank, at once. No, no; you must not do that.--Heaven help me! What am I saying?" she sighed to herself. "Best thing to do," said Burnett. "Shouldn't have you always coming in then." "Frank dear," said Claire deprecatingly, "I have not been to see May since--" "You disgraced yourself on the night of the party," he said brutally. "Frank!" "Oh, come: it's of no use to ride the high horse with me, my lady. I'm not a fool. I repeat it: you haven't been since the night you disgraced us by inviting that little blackguard, Harry Payne, to see you; and it would have been better if you had not come now." Claire winced as if she were being lashed, but she uttered no word of complaint. It was her fate, she told herself, to suffer for others, and she was ready to play the social martyr's part, and save May and Burnett if she could. As she debated in her mind whether Burnett had not proposed the solution of the difficulty in taking her sister away, the thought was crushed by the recollection that May was Gravani's wife, and that she would be saved and made happier could she leave with him. Then the feeling came that all this was madness, and the position hopeless, and she said imploringly: "Let me see May, Frank." "What do you want with her? To beg for more money? You've kept her short enough lately." "Frank! indeed--" "No lies, please," he cried. "I know you've had at least a guinea a week from her for long enough past." It was true, but the money was for Gravani's child; and Claire's face grew hollow and old-looking as she felt that she dared not defend herself. "I suppose you have come for more money, haven't you?" said Burnett spitefully. "No--indeed no!" cried Claire. "I do not believe you," he said brutally; "and--" "Ah, Claire, you here!" said May, rustling into the room, all silk, and scent, and flowers. "Yes, she's here," said Burnett; "and the sooner she's gone the better. I'm going out."