“Well, Hetty, if I am to speak candidly, I must say that I have known Sidney Trefusis for a long time, and he is the easiest person to get on with I ever met.  And you know, dear, that you are very trying sometimes.”

“And so,” cried Henrietta, bursting into tears, “after the infamous way he has treated me I am to be told that it is all my own fault.”

She left the house next day, having obtained another invitation from a discreet lady who would not discuss the subject at all.  This proved quite intolerable, and Henrietta went to stay with her uncle Daniel Jansenius, a jolly and indulgent man.  He opined that things would come right as soon as both parties grew more sensible; and, as to which of them was, in fault, his verdict was, six of one and half a dozen of the other.  Whenever he saw his niece pensive or tearful he laughed at her and called her a grass widow.  Henrietta found that she could endure anything rather than this.  Declaring that the world was hateful to her, she hired a furnished villa in St. John’s Wood, whither she moved in December.  But, suffering much there from loneliness, she soon wrote a pathetic letter to Agatha, entreating her to spend the approaching Christmas vacation with her, and promising her every luxury and amusement that boundless affection could suggest and boundless means procure.  Agatha’s reply contained some unlooked-for information.

“Alton College, Lyvern,

“14th December.

“Dearest Hetty:  I don’t think I can do exactly what you want, as I must spend Xmas with Mamma at Chiswick; but I need not get there until Xmas Eve, and we break up here on yesterday week, the 20th.  So I will go straight to you and bring you with me to Mamma’s, where you will spend Xmas much better than moping in a strange house.  It is not quite settled yet about my leaving the college after this term.  You must promise not to tell anyone; but I have a new friend here—­a lover.  Not that I am in love with him, though I think very highly of him—­you know I am not a romantic fool; but he is very much in love with me; and I wish I could return it as he deserves.  The French say that one person turns the cheek and the other kisses it.  It has not got quite so far as that with us; indeed, since he declared what he felt he has only been able to snatch a few words with me when I have been skating or walking.  But there has always been at least one word or look that meant a great deal.

“And now, who do you think he is?  He says he knows you.  Can you guess?  He says you know all his secrets.  He says he knows your husband well; that he treated you very badly, and that you are greatly to be pitied.  Can you guess now?  He says he has kissed you—­for shame, Hetty!  Have you guessed yet?  He was going to tell me something more when we were interrupted, and I have not seen him since except at a distance.  He is the man with whom you eloped that day when you gave us all such a fright—­Mr. Sidney.  I