The Countess Lavinia rose impatiently. "My life is Hell, Honoria, and some way I must alter it." She paced up and down, the loose gown flowing about her, an expression if utter wretchedness on her sallow face. "I saw Marius Lyndwood yesterday, the same as always--why was I never young like that? The regret of it, Honoria--the early spring last year in Paris; my God, why have I lost it all?" She spoke in a stifled voice and walked to and fro as if driven into movement by inward pain. "I would rather die to-morrow in the ruin of his house, than live like this; _I cannot do it_, Honoria." "Ye have your wild moods, my lady," answered the maid calmly, "but life is well worth living and you have fairer prospects than others. What is there before my lord? He has changed since I have watched him." "Never in his contempt of me." "You have always Mr. Hilton and the money," continued Honoria unmoved, "but the Earl is slipping easily to ruin." "He has been to my father for money," cried the Countess. "Again to _my_ father, who has told me the Treasury could not supply the life we led; well, I shall be ruined also, and not, God knows, through pleasure; however, we talk wildly; if there is nought but the pistol or the Fleet for him, what is there but the river or Bedlam for me?" Honoria Pryse sorted out the curling-irons. "Before then ye can make some stir, both with Miss Boyle and with Captain Lyndwood." "I hate his mother and his cousin," said the Countess abruptly. "Is not this girl a friend of theirs? I would do something to sting them." The maid looked over her shoulder. "A notice in the _Gazette_--were like fire to straw----" The Countess glanced at her. "I will put it in; what is that she says of me? A sneer, I doubt not; they think I am a fool or indifferent; her refined love letters! She is like the others for all her quiet face; what is there in my lord for a little saint to adore?" She laughed bitterly. "I swear Sir Francis is the better man." "He will prove himself so, or endeavour to," answered Honoria; "if we once bring them together over the matter of Selina Boyle." "Ye think the _Gazette_ the thing?" "Yes, something carefully worded." "Would they put it in?" "Would they not, my lady!" The Countess took a turn about the room. "Bring me a paper, we will compose it," she said slowly. She paused a moment, then added, in a curious tone, "Marius Lyndwood is coming here to-day; I think had I married him we should have been very fond of each other, Honoria--fetch something to write on." She sank wearily into a chair. "You write," said the Countess, frowning. "And afterwards we shall copy it out and disguise the hand--and what of Miss Boyle's letter?" "We can never get it back," answered Honoria, balancing the writing-case on her knee. "We had best burn it." A tap at the door interrupted her; she laid the case over Miss Boyle's letter, and went to answer it; there was a quick exchange of words at the door and she came back.