"In love! Your father? With whom--who is she?"

"Father? Oh, Lord, mother, I didn't say anything about father. Don't
cry! It's another man altogether."

"Not Freddie Ulstervelt?" quavered Mrs. Rodney, pulling herself
together. "After all he has said to you--"

"No, no, mamma," cried her daughter irritably. "Freddie may be in love
with her, but he's not the only one. Mamma!" She straightened up and
looked at her mother with wide, horror-struck eyes, "Roxbury Medcroft is
madly in love with Constance Fowler!"

Mrs. Rodney did not utter a sound for fully a minute and a half. She
never took her eyes from her daughter's distressed face. The colour was
coming back into her own, and her lips were setting themselves into thin
red lines above her rigid chin.

"I'm sorry, Katherine, that you have seen it too. I have suspected it
for several days. But I have not dared to speak--it seemed too
improbable. What are we to do?" She sat down suddenly, even weakly.

"She's not only leading Freddie on, but she's flirting with her own
brother-in-law--her own sister's husband--her--her--"

"Her own niece's father! It's atrocious!"

"She's a horrid beast! And I _thought_ I loved her. Oh, mamma, it's just
dreadful!"