Thus dismissed, the girl of seventeen and the girl of thirty-seven, walked away laughing and chattering. Their dress was almost identical--white gowns, large hats wreathed with flowers; the sole difference being that Cara wore roses, and her companion a wreath of daisies. Meanwhile, Mrs. Hesketh and her friend proved poor enough company for a guest who was filled with a burning curiosity,--and they with a sense of icy terror. Mrs. Plassy knew everything; was her daughter in the secret? If so, would she tell _Cara_? The bare idea caused Letty to feel faint! the child had always been led to suppose that her father was dead; this fact, never actually stated, was nevertheless implied. She followed the two white figures with straining eyes, and a wildly beating heart, whilst her friend and Mrs. Plassy discoursed of hotels, and society. The latter lady pointedly excluded Mrs. Glyn from the conversation; her attitude was rigid, her glance expressed hostility, and disdain. The miserable culprit realised, that she was meeting the eyes of a world, who was still crying shame upon her, and measured the amount of condemnation that awaited her in circles where her story was known. Of late years this fact had slumbered.--At last the tension and situation became unendurable, and with a murmured excuse she rose, and moved away in search of the two girls. “How young she looks!” exclaimed Mrs. Plassy. Then, in reply to a glance, “I mean Mrs. Blagdon.” “Hush!” with a horrified gesture; “I’ve not heard that name for years.” “I suppose,” resumed the other, and her manner was aggressive, “she has buried herself at the farm, on account of the child?” Mrs. Hesketh nodded. “Does the girl know?” she asked abruptly. “Not yet.” “Ah; when she finds out that she is the only child of a very rich man, I don’t think _I_ should care to be in her mother’s shoes!” “Don’t you?” retorted Mrs. Hesketh. “Her mother has forfeited her income, her country, her friends, and devoted her life to her--is that to count for nothing?” “I’m afraid that young people are shockingly selfish and ungrateful--especially when they are the objects of schemes for their good,” replied Mrs. Plassy, who was thoroughly enjoying herself, and determined that this detestable enemy should be remorselessly tortured. “She looks to me like a girl who had expensive tastes, and would appreciate luxury!” “You don’t know Hugo Blagdon,” declared Mrs. Hesketh, with a note of passion in her voice, “nor the bringing up that he would have given his daughter!” “Yes, by all accounts he is a _viveur!_ and he looks dissipated. I’ve seen him at Monte Carlo. Yet, after all, the girl is legally his; he is her father.” A sharpness came into her speech, as she added, “Who would believe that that quiet young woman, had it _in_ her to run off, first with an officer, and then with her own child? Still waters run deep!” So this was how people talked of her friend!