“But we like her and she likes us. Why shouldn’t she come?” “Because it would be much wiser for her not to come,” said Myra. “I know her past, and you do not. If you are wise you will not have Ivy for your intimate friend.” A troubled look began to steal over Evereld’s face, she was not well, and was very ill-fitted just then to take a calm dispassionate view of anything. Myra’s words and hints agitated her all the more because she only half understood them. Vaguely she felt that a shadow was creeping over her cloudless sky. She shivered a little and drew closer to the fire. “Please tell me just what you mean,” she said rather piteously. “I know of nothing against Ivy, and she has been Ralph’s friend for a long time, so naturally I like her.” “Naturally!” exclaimed Myra, whose jealous nature found it hard to credit such a statement. “That only shows how innocent you are, how little you understand the world. Why to my certain knowledge that girl is in love with your husband.” Evereld’s eyes dilated, she stared at the speaker for a moment in mute consternation. Then suddenly she began to laugh but not quite naturally, her tears were at no great distance. “How ridiculous!” she said. “I wonder you can say such a thing to me. Ivy! who has been quite foolishly fond of me! Oh, indeed you are mistaken!” “The mistake is yours!” said Myra, “Ivy is a very coaxing little thing and would of course find it most convenient to have your friendship. She is clever and managing, and always contrives to get her own way, and then of course she is a born actress. I have no doubt she was delighted to vow an eternal friendship with you. It’s just what would suit her best.” Evereld’s heart sank, she seemed to be suddenly plunged into an entirely new region, where doubt and suspicion and jealousy and evil intention made the whole atmosphere dark and oppressive. Not since her difficulties at Glion had she felt so miserable and so utterly perplexed. “You see, dear,” said Myra, “I knew them both in the days of the Scotch tour, and from the first understood how things were. I daresay your husband hasn’t told you about it, men forget these things, but there is no doubt whatever that Ivy was in love with him. I saw it then clearly enough, and I see it now. Be persuaded by me, and for your own sake and for her good don’t have her much with you. I am older than you, and I know the harm that a fascinating little witch like Ivy can work. Of course I say all this to you in confidence, but I thought it was only kind to give you a hint. You have not been to the theatre just lately.” “No, I am rather tired of this play,” said Evereld. “I am glad we are to have a Shaksperian week at Bath.”