This was such unexpected frankness that Rhoda stammered, not quite prepared with a reply. Lady Sarah nodded sagely. “Of course in a way you are right. I confess that I’ve always liked Jack better than any other man, much better, for instance, than I’ve ever liked Sir Robert.” “Oh, hush! pray don’t say such things!” Lady Sarah’s pretty face grew mutinous. “Why shouldn’t I say them? You have always known the truth so far, and it would be only cant to pretend you hadn’t. Come, Miss Pembury, be honest. You first knew me ten years ago. Didn’t you know, even then, that I liked Jack best? If you didn’t, you ought to have known. For I’m sure everybody else did.” “Well, even if I did, of course I took it for granted, when I found you married to a man so good and so generous, and so devoted to you, that you were fond of him.” “You should never take anything for granted, with a woman like me. I don’t think even Sir Robert took so much for granted as you seem to have done. A man thinks only of getting the woman he likes best to marry him, you know; he never asks himself whether he can make her love him. That’s what _he_ takes for granted. Sometimes, no doubt, he’s right; sometimes, he’s wrong. Sir Robert was wrong.” “Oh, don’t. I don’t like to hear.” “But I want to tell you. Look here, Miss Pembury. We are not great friends, you and I. You don’t like me very much, and perhaps I don’t appreciate you properly. My husband doesn’t think I do, I know.” Rather shocked by this mingled cynicism and honesty, Rhoda was yet interested, fascinated. Lady Sarah could always command any one’s interest and attention when she chose to take the trouble. And as she talked, looking the while as pretty as a picture by Greuze in spite of her recent tears, Rhoda could not help her own heart going out to the wayward creature, who talked so simply, and who seemed so frank. “But, at any rate, as we’re both women, we ought to be able to understand each other, if we try. I want you to understand me. Not from any wish to make out a case for myself, but because I want some one to know, and to remember afterwards, just what Sir Robert is doing in driving Jack Rotherfield away. He will have to go, of course. Probably Sir Robert will make a pretence of forgiving me for my share in the picture affair, and I shall be allowed to remain here, as an act of distinguished clemency. But I don’t want to remain. If Jack, who is my friend, is sent away, and I am kept here as a sort of prisoner on parole, I might as well die at once. Of what use will my life be to me? If I am not trusted to have my own friends, if I am to find my amusement in Sir Robert’s stuffed birds, why should I take the trouble to live at all?” “But Sir Robert isn’t so unreasonable. He wants you to be happy, and as he sees that you can’t be happy long at home, he is ready to take you abroad.”