"Why, the Home for Friendless Women--"

"It was well chosen," Dresham commented; and Hartly buried his
mirth in the sofa-cushions.

When they were alone Glennard, still holding his untouched cup of
tea, turned to his wife, who sat silently behind the kettle. "Who
asked you to take a ticket for that reading?"

"I don't know, really--Kate Dresham, I fancy. It was she who got
it up."

"It's just the sort of damnable vulgarity she's capable of! It's
loathsome--it's monstrous--"

His wife, without looking up, answered gravely, "I thought so too.
It was for that reason I didn't go. But you must remember that
very few people feel about Mrs. Aubyn as you do--"

Glennard managed to set down his cup with a steady hand, but the
room swung round with him and he dropped into the nearest chair.
"As I do?" he repeated.

"I mean that very few people knew her when she lived in New York.
To most of the women who went to the reading she was a mere name,
too remote to have any personality. With me, of course, it was
different--"

Glennard gave her a startled look. "Different? Why different?"