than Mr. Dunstable, a boy of nineteen--three years ago. She got him to
promise to marry her; and the parents came down, and paid her enormously
to let him go. Now she's got through all that money, and she boasts
she's going to marry young Dunstable before his parents know anything
about it. She's going to make sure of a peerage this time. Oh, she's
odious! She's greedy, she's vulgar, she's false! And of course"--the
girl's eyes grew wide and scared--"there may be other things much worse.
How do we know?"

"How do we know indeed!" said Doris, with a shrug. "Well!"--she turned
her eyes full upon her guest--"and what are you going to do?"

An eager look met hers.

"Couldn't you--couldn't you write to Mr. Meadows, and ask him to warn
Lady Dunstable?"

Doris shook her head.

"Why don't you do it yourself?"

The girl flushed uncomfortably. "You see, father quarrelled with her
about that unkind thing she did to me--oh, it isn't worth telling!--but
he wrote her an angry letter, and they never spoke afterwards. Lady
Dunstable never forgives that kind of thing. If people find fault with
her, she just drops them. I don't believe she'd read a letter from me!"

"_Les offensés_, etc.," said Doris, meditating. "But what are the facts?
Has the boy actually promised to marry her? She may have been telling
lies to my uncle."