move on, but Mrs. Falchion touched my arm. "Wait," she said. She stood
and heard the letter through. Then we walked on, she musing. Presently
she said: "It is a pity--a pity."

I looked at her inquiringly, but she offered no explanation of the
enigmatical words. But, at this moment, seeing Justine waiting, she
excused herself, and soon I saw her listening to Moliere. Later in the
day I saw her talking with Miss Treherne, and it struck me that she had
never looked so beautiful as then, and that Miss Treherne had never
seemed so perfect a product of a fine convention. But, watching them
together, one who had had any standard of good life could never have
hesitated between the two. It was plain to me that Mrs. Falchion was
bent upon making a conquest of this girl who so delicately withstood her;
and Belle Treherne has told me since, that, when in her presence, and
listening to her, she was irresistibly drawn to her; though at the same
time she saw there was some significant lack in her nature; some hardness
impossible to any one who had ever known love. She also told me that on
this occasion Mrs. Falchion did not mention my name, nor did she ever in
their acquaintance, save in the most casual fashion. Her conversation
with Miss Treherne was always far from petty gossip or that smart comedy
in which some women tell much personal history, with the guise of
badinage and bright cynicism. I confess, though, it struck me
unpleasantly at the time, that this fresh, high-hearted creature should
be in familiar conversation with a woman who, it seemed to me, was the
incarnation of cruelty.

Mrs. Falchion subscribed most liberally to the fund raised for the
children of the quartermaster and munificently to that for the crew which
had, under Hungerford, performed the rescue work. The only effect of
this was to deepen the belief that she was very wealthy, and could spend