Gwen signified her consent with a deep sigh, and May slipped the bandage off and put it away on the dressing-table. Then she dabbed some of the Eau-de-Cologne softly on to the girl's forehead. "I suppose you _know_," whispered Gwen, as the scent of the perfume came into her nostrils. "Yes," said May. "I hope the servants don't know," groaned Gwen. "I don't think any one knows, but just ourselves," said May, in a soothing voice; "and no one but ourselves need know about it." "Oh, it's horrible!" groaned Gwen again. "I can't bear it!" "It is hard to bear," said May, as she smoothed the girl's brow. After a little silence Gwendolen suddenly said-- "You don't believe in that ghost?" "The ghost?" said May, a little surprised at this sudden deviation from the cause of Gwendolen's grief. "You thought it was silly?" said Gwen, tentatively. "Not silly, but fanciful," said May. Gwendolen moved her head. "I think I was; but I still see him, and I don't want to. I have begun to think about him, now, this evening. I had forgotten before----" "You must make up your mind not to think of it. It isn't a real person, Gwen." Gwendolen still kept her head slightly round towards May Dashwood, though she had her eyes closed so as not to interfere with the movements of May's hand on her brow. "Do you think the devil does things?" she asked in an awed voice. May hesitated for a moment and then said: "We do things, and some of us call it the devil doing things." "Then you don't believe in the devil?" asked Gwendolen, opening her eyes. "I don't think so, Gwen," said May. "But God I am sure of." Gwendolen lay still for a little while. She was thinking now of her troubles. "You don't do any wrong things?" asked Gwendolen, tentatively. "We all do wrong things," said May. "I mean wrong things that people make a fuss about," said Gwendolen, thinking of Mrs. Potten, and the drawing-room at Potten End. "Some things are more wrong than others," said May. "It depends upon whether they do much harm or not." Gwendolen pondered. This was a new proof of Mrs. Potten's meanness. What she, Gwen, had done had harmed nobody practically. "I'm miserable!" she burst out. "Poor Gwen!" murmured May. Gwendolen lay still. Her heart was full. When she had once left the Lodgings, and was at Mrs. Potten's she would be among enemies. Now, here, at least she had one friend--some one who was not mean and didn't scold. She must speak to this one kind friend--she would tell her troubles. She must have some one to confide in. "I didn't want to break off the engagement," she said at last, unable to keep her thoughts much longer to herself. "You didn't want to!" said May gently. It was scarcely a question, but it drew Gwendolen to an explanation of her words. "Mrs. Potten made me," she said. "No one could make you," said May, quietly. "Could they?"