“Oh, Cara, Cara! How _could_ you?” murmured her parent, with uplifted hands. “Well, I believe most people know I’ve friends--men friends. Fritz was crazy, when he saw me speaking to Captain Seymour; but think of the awful, awful life I lead here, and other English girls have such good times! I’ve done no harm whatever--I’ve only amused myself. And why not?” “Getting out of your bedroom window at night, and sitting in the garden with strange men from the Paradis!” “Now, who can have told you that?” she asked sharply. “_Jost?_ though for ten francs he swore he’d hold his tongue; treacherous old devil!” “Never mind who told--I know everything.” “Do you, Mum? I doubt it. I’ve had lots of affairs since I was fifteen,” and she eyed her mother with amusement. “Yes, it’s in my blood. You asked me to tell you things--and I _will_.” Now that the ice was broken, Cara felt tempted to shock her mother; she would enjoy the sensation. “Since you were fifteen?” repeated Letty in an incredulous whisper. Cara nodded, with smiling complacence. “Yes, first, there was the violinist, an Italian, who said he was a Count. He gave me chocolates and flowers,--till I spotted him in the orchestra; but even then I was gone on Pablo. After Pablo, the nice German boy from Heidelberg; he wrote me verses, and gave me a ring. There was also Anton Baer, who took me up Pilatus when you thought I was in bed at the Baers, with a sprained ankle; and Major McKenzie, who spoke to me on the boat; and Captain Seymour--and always, always Fritz.” As Letty stood pale and rigid, as if turned to stone, Cara concluded: “After all, I’ve done no harm; one is young but once!” “No harm, Cara? I think you have broken my heart! A girl of seventeen making herself notorious. Do you know that you are the laughing-stock of men at the Paradis; who discuss you, and hold you very cheap?--no harm in losing your good name!” “As to broken hearts,” retorted Cara, who was now plaiting her hair vigorously, “I don’t believe in them; and I’ve heard enough of that rubbish from Fritz to last a lifetime.” The term ‘laughing-stock’ had stirred her keenly, and she went on, her temper at white heat: “As for my good name, I can take care of that; and, my darling Mum,” and she drew herself up, and tossed back a plait, “_you_ are the last person to talk of ‘a good name.’” “What do you mean, Cara?” Letty asked faintly. “I mean,” speaking with deliberate emphasis, “that I _know_.” Her mother took two steps backwards, staggered blindly, and sat down on the side of the bed,--her face as colourless as the counterpane. “Yes, I must say, I think you should not have kept it from me, Mum. Of course, I don’t think any the worse of you, dear.” She would have taken her mother’s hand, but Letty pushed her from her, with impatience, and her trembling lips put the question: “Who told you?” “Miss Plassy--she said I _ought_ to know.” “Yes, go on,” urged her mother in a stifled voice; “be quick and tell me.”