“At any rate, you may reckon on me,” declared Mrs. Hesketh, rising from her chair. “I have a number of letters that I really must write for this post,--and I am sure you will excuse me?” “Of course, of course--with pleasure.” Which was not precisely the right rejoinder. Then Mrs. Hesketh walked away across the grass, carrying her still slender figure with unusual dignity, though her hands were shaking, and her face was chalk-white. She felt utterly shattered, prostrated, and disgraced, by the recent humiliating interview. * * * * * Two days later Cara and Tomlin proceeded to Lucerne for the promised outing. They accomplished a good deal of shopping and sight-seeing, and Tomlin proved wildly extravagant with respect to chocolate, picture postcards, and cheap brooches; but at the end of two hours, the girl’s patience was threadbare; she was bored to death. She hated interpreting, bargaining, and standing before shop-windows,--the contents of which she knew by heart,--and hailed with joy the approach of Lydia Plassy, who halted, and accosted her. “What are you doing in Lucerne?” “Nothing; we have been shopping, and looking at panoramas, and the old bridge, and the museum.” “How _very_ exciting!” She glanced at Tomlin, who stood transfixed before some exquisite embroideries. “It is getting on for four. Do come along and have tea with me at Huguenin’s? She,” nodding at the maid, “can easily amuse herself, and meet you at the boat.” “I should love it,” said Cara eagerly, then added in French, “She’s my policeman--and I’ll only be too thankful to be rid of her. She’s just an old spy.” Miss Plassy graciously explained the situation to Tomlin--who recognising the lady as an hotel acquaintance of her mistress, agreed; by no means reluctant, to have an hour to spend as she pleased, and to be left to enjoy the shop-windows to her heart’s content. Her mother had told Lydia,--from whom she had no secrets,--of her conversation with Mrs. Hesketh, and the promise and understanding which now existed between them. “Hateful old woman, so disgustingly stuck up! Have you forgotten her airs and snubs at Cannes?” said Lydia spitefully. “Now she wants something badly she is as sweet as honey--bah! such people make me ill. She asks you a great favour--yes--but what can she do for _us_?” “My dear,” replied her mother, with impressive solemnity, “you know very well, that she has it in her power, to be a _very_ helpful friend.” But it was not merely the snubs that still rankled in Lydia’s mind--she was accustomed to these; it was the never-forgotten fact, that a charming young man, who was her devoted adherent, had been drawn from his allegiance by the arrival of the mysterious beauty, Mrs. Hesketh’s companion; and though the beauty never vouchsafed him a crumb of encouragement, the capricious swain had failed to return to Lydia’s lure; Mrs. Glyn had unintentionally cost Miss Plassy her lover.