"Oh, I don't know. It's absurd marrying on nothing. Gilbert was well off when I became his wife, or I shouldn't have married him; had I known he was a gambler, I should have refused him. He made a nice mess of his life." "I thought you loved him." "I did, a deal better than he deserved," said Lady Jenny, bitterly. "But--but--oh, what is the use of talking! He was a bad man--another woman--his fault--and I--my dear, don't you trust Harold. All men are bad." "I always understood Mr. Malet was devoted to you." "So did I--until I found him out. It came about in the strangest way--the discovery, I mean." Lady Jenny paused, as though considering whether to speak out or not. Finally she decided to hold her tongue. "But then these things concern only myself," said she, abruptly. "He deceived me--I was jealous--that is all you need know. But I cannot say that I sorrow for him now that he is dead." "Oh, how can you speak so?" "Because I am a woman, and jealous. When Harold deceives you, Brenda, you will feel as I do--feel that you could kill him with your own hand." Lady Jenny looked suddenly at the girl's blonde beauty. "But no! you are a cold Saxon girl, with little such spirit in you. I--my father was Irish, my mother Italian, and I have in me all the fire of Celt and Latin. It was well for Gilbert that he died when he did," she said between her teeth; "I don't know what I should have done!" The bitterness and passion with which she spoke were both new to Brenda, who had never suspected her of such depth of feeling. Being in the dark, more or less, concerning its cause, she hardly knew what to say, so she held her peace. She felt that nothing she could say would alter her friend's feelings, and might possibly even aggravate them. After a turn up and down the room, the widow resumed her seat, and seemed to become calmer. "Where are you going to stay in town, Brenda?" "With my aunt, Mrs. St. Leger, in Kensington. My father always lives in his own rooms, you know. He doesn't want to be troubled with a grown-up daughter." "He won't be troubled long if Harold is to be believed." "You mean our marriage? No! But you know my father doesn't approve of it. He wants me to marry Mr. van Zwieten." "That Dutchman! Horrid creature! I never could bear him. Gilbert liked him, though." "Indeed!" said Brenda, rather surprised. "Mr. van Zwieten told me he and Mr. Malet were not friendly." Lady Jenny laughed in a way not good to hear. "Very likely. Van Zwieten is cunning--slim, as his countrymen call it. I know more about him though than he thinks." "Do you know who he is?" "Yes, I know who he is, and how he makes his money, and why he is in England." "How did you find out?" asked Brenda, breathlessly. "Oh, _that_ I mustn't tell you--suppose you were to tell Van Zwieten?"