"Naturally I should have told her. But in case she should blame
you in any way, I promise I will not, I am very willing not to. I
will never speak of it either to her or to any one."

Her promise brought the long-drawn interview to a sudden close.
Miss Bartlett pecked her smartly on both cheeks, wished her
good-night, and sent her to her own room.

For a moment the original trouble was in the background. George
would seem to have behaved like a cad throughout; perhaps that
was the view which one would take eventually. At present she
neither acquitted nor condemned him; she did not pass judgment.
At the moment when she was about to judge him her cousin's voice
had intervened, and, ever since, it was Miss Bartlett who had
dominated; Miss Bartlett who, even now, could be heard sighing
into a crack in the partition wall; Miss Bartlett, who had really
been neither pliable nor humble nor inconsistent. She had worked
like a great artist; for a time--indeed, for years--she had been
meaningless, but at the end there was presented to the girl the
complete picture of a cheerless, loveless world in which the
young rush to destruction until they learn better--a shamefaced
world of precautions and barriers which may avert evil, but which
do not seem to bring good, if we may judge from those who have
used them most.

Lucy was suffering from the most grievous wrong which this world
has yet discovered: diplomatic advantage had been taken of her
sincerity, of her craving for sympathy and love. Such a wrong is
not easily forgotten. Never again did she expose herself without