"Not at all," said Lady Dashwood. "You needn't worry, Louise; any one who can stand India would find the climate of Oxford admirable. Now, as soon as you have done my hair, I want you to go down to the drawing-room, where you will find Mrs. Dashwood, and apologise to her for my not coming down again. Say I have a letter that will take me some time to answer. Bid her good night, also the Warden, who will be with her, I expect." Louise had been momentarily plunged into despair. She had been unsuccessful all the way round. It looked as if the visit to Oxford was to go on indefinitely, and as to the letter--well--Madame was unfathomable--as she always was. She was English, and one must not expect them to behave as if they had a heart. But now her spirits rose! This message to the drawing-room! The Warden was alone with Mrs. Dashwood! The Warden, this man of apparent uprightness who was the seducer of the young! Lady Dashwood had discovered his wickedness and dared not leave Mrs. Dashwood, a widow and of an age (twenty-eight) when a woman is still young, alone with him. So she, Louise, was sent down, _bien entendu_, to break up the _tête-à-tête_! Louise put down the brush and smiled to herself as she went down to the drawing-room. She, through her devotion to duty, had become an important instrument in the hands of Providence. When Lady Dashwood found herself alone, she took up her keys and jingled them, unable to make up her mind. She had only read the first two or three sentences of Belinda's letter; she had only read--until the identity and meaning of the letter had suddenly come to her. She opened the drawer and took out the letter. Then she walked a few steps in the room, thinking as she walked. No, much as she despised Belinda, she could not read a private letter of hers. Perhaps, because she despised her, it was all the more urgent that she should not read anything of hers. What Lady Dashwood longed to do was to have done with Belinda and never see her or hear from her again. She wanted Belinda wiped out of the world in which she, Lena Dashwood, moved and thought. What was she to do with the letter? Jim was safe now, the letter was harmless--as far as he was concerned. But what about Gwen? Was it not like handing on to her a dose of moral poison? On the other hand, the poison belonged to Gwen and had been sent to her by her mother! The matter could not be settled without more reflection. Perhaps some definite decision would frame itself during the night; perhaps she would awake in the morning, knowing exactly what was the best to be done. She put away the letter again, and again locked the drawer. She was putting away her keys when the door opened and she heard her maid come in.