Then she came back to herself, and turned to him with an apologetic smile. "I am afraid I have bored you to tears with my stupid personal history, but I will finish by telling you one little thing that may amuse you." He protested, of course, that he had not been in the least bored, only too painfully interested. "Well, I am not a person easily crushed, and although a physical coward and frightened of raids and thunderstorms, I am not a moral one. When I began to review my position, I tried to hit upon some way of making money." Was she fond of money, he wondered? Well, perhaps, like most women, she wanted money to buy herself pretty things. There was nothing unusual in that. "When I was a schoolgirl, I was supposed to show some artistic talent; I got several prizes. So I set to work and painted some half-a-dozen small things, in what I conceived to be a popular style, and took them round to as many dealers. In a week my hopes were shattered. One straightforward creature told me frankly that they just attained the schoolgirl level of excellence, but that I should never become an artist. It was not in me." "A crushing blow, indeed," said Spencer sympathetically. "I then turned to writing. Here, at any rate, was a profession that required no previous painful training, only powers of observation, some imagination, and a certain fluency of expression. I wrote some short stories which I thought good, which I still think good. History repeated itself. I sent them to a dozen editors, one after another. In every case, they were declined with thanks." "I daresay they were quite good, and they were not taken because you didn't happen to be in the ring," was Spencer's consoling comment. "Well," she exclaimed brightly, "there is an end of my reminiscences for to-day. Let us talk of anything and everything else. Have you seen Mr Esmond lately? He has not been near us since the night he came with you." Shortly afterwards he took his leave, he had stayed unconsciously long as it was. "I shall come again soon, if I may, to listen to some more reminiscences," he said, as he shook hands. And she had given him permission, with the brightest of smiles. He had not learned half as much as he wanted, but he had gathered something. The bounder cousin was the son of a self-made man, a _parvenu_. And Stella Keane was not absolutely penniless, she had enough money to buy herself clothes. Did Tommy Esmond know as much as this? And if he did, why had he not said so? CHAPTER TWELVE. Although unsuspicious by nature, Guy Spencer had mixed much in the world and seen a good deal of life. Attracted as he was by the charming Stella, there was a something about the atmosphere of that flat in Elsinore Gardens which created an unfavourable impression. Of Mrs L'Estrange's antecedents there was no question. She was a woman of good family, she could produce chapter and verse for her ancestors. And yet, why was she not in a better environment?