Rylton placidly; "and I was never for a moment blind to the fact,
but he was well off at that time, and, of course, I married him. I
wasn't in love with him." She pauses, and makes a little apologetic
gesture with her fan and shoulders. "Horrid expression, isn't it?"
says she. "In love! So terribly _bourgeois_. It ought to be done
away with. However, to go on, you see how admirably my marriage
turned out. Not a hitch anywhere. Your poor dear uncle and I never
had a quarrel. I had only to express a wish, and it was gratified."

"Poor dear uncle was so clever," says Mrs. Bethune, with lowered
lids.

Again Margaret looks at her, but is hardly sure whether sarcasm is
really meant.

"Clever? Hardly, perhaps," says Lady Rylton meditatively. "Clever is
scarcely the word."

"No, wise--wise is the word," says Mrs. Bethune.

Her eyes are still downcast. It seems to Margaret that she is
inwardly convulsed with laughter.

"Well, wise or not, we lived in harmony," says Lady Rylton with a
sigh and a prolonged sniff at her scent-bottle. "With us it was
peace to the end."

"Certainly; it was peace _at_ the end," says Mrs. Bethune solemnly.

It was, indeed, a notorious thing that the late Sir Maurice had