there were, I should not look for it. I am sorry that
there is any smirch on Lisa's birth. But even her
mother, I fancy, was not altogether a bad lot. Bygones
must be bygones. I love my wife, mother. She's worth
loving, as you'd find if you would take the trouble to
know her. Her dead mother shall not come between her and
me."

"She's like her, George!" said Mrs. Waldeaux, with white,
trembling lips. "I ought to have seen it at first.
Those luring, terrible eyes. It is Pauline Felix's heart
that is in her. Rotten to the core--rotten----"

"I don't care. I'll stand by her." But George's face,
too, began to lose its color. He shook himself
uncomfortably. "The thing's done now," he muttered.

"Certainly, certainly," Frances repeated mechanically.
"Tell her that I am sorry I spoke of her mother before
her. It was rude--brutal. I ask her pardon."

"Oh, she'll soon forget that! Lisa has a warm heart, if
you take her right. There's lots of hearty fun in her
too. You'll like that. Are you going now? Good-by,
dear. We will come and see you in the morning. The
thing will not seem half so bad when you have slept on
it."

He paused uncertainly, as she still stood motionless.
She was facing the grim walls of Stafford House, looming