The girl stands silent. No actual knowledge of her meaning enters into her heart, but what does come home to her in some vague way is that she has been thrust back—put far away—cast out, as it were. ‘I don’t understand,’ says she, a little faintly. ‘Oh, I think you do,’ says Mrs. Prior, with cultivated rudeness. ‘But I have not come here to-day to inform you as to your position in life. I have come rather to explain to you that your—er—relations with my nephew must come to an end—and at once.’ ‘Your nephew?’ ‘Has Mr. Wyndham not spoken to you of his people, then? Rather better taste than I should have expected from him. But one may judge from it that he is not yet lost to all sense of decency.’ The insolence in her tone stings. ‘You must believe me or not, as you like,’ says the girl, drawing up her slight figure, ‘but I don’t know what you are speaking about. Do you mean that you think it wrong of me to have rented this cottage from Mr. Wyndham?’ Mrs. Prior raises her pince-nez and looks at her. ‘Really, you are very amusing!’ says she. ‘Now what do you think it is? Right? Your views should be interesting.’ ‘If not this house, I should take another,’ says Ella. She is feeling bewildered and frightened, and has grown very pale. ‘Of course, if you insist on the innocent _rôle_,’ says Mrs. Prior coldly, shrugging her shoulders, ‘it is useless my wasting my time. If, however, you have any regard for Mr. Wyndham, who, it seems, has been very kind to you’—she glances meaningly round the charming little home and garden—‘if distinctly unkind to himself, it may be of use to let you know that your presence here is very likely to be the cause of his ruin.’ ‘His—ruin!’ The unmistakable horror in the girl’s face strikes Mrs. Prior as hopeful, so she proceeds briskly. ‘Social ruin! It will undoubtedly mean his disinheritance by his uncle, Lord Shangarry, and—the rupture of his engagement with the girl he—loves!’ She plants this barb with joy. The telling of a lie more or less has never troubled her during her life. ‘The girl he loves!’ Ella’s voice as she repeats the words sounds dull and monotonous. She is quite ghastly now, and she has laid her hand on the back of a garden-chair to steady herself. ‘Yes. The girl he has always meant to marry!’ She lays great stress on the last word. That ought to tell. ‘Whom he meant to marry until your—fascinations’—she throws detestable meaning into her speech, base as it is detestable—‘alienated him—for the moment!’ All at once Ella recovers herself.