“What do I see of Mr. Fores, Mrs. Maldon?  I see nothing of Mr. Fores, or hardly.  I’m your lady help, and he’s your nephew—­at least, he’s your great-nephew, and it’s your house he comes to.  I can’t help being in the house, can I?  If you’re thinking about last night, well, Mr. Fores called to see how you were getting on, and I was just going out to do some shopping.  He walked down with me.  I suppose I needn’t tell you I didn’t ask him to walk down with me.  He asked me.  I couldn’t hardly say no, could I?  And there were some parcels and he walked back with me.”

She felt so wise and so clever and the narrative seemed so entirely natural, proper, and inevitable that she was tempted to continue—­

“And supposing we did go into a cinematograph for a minute or two—­what then?”

But she had no courage for the confession.  As a wise woman she perceived the advisability of letting well alone.  Moreover, she hated confessions, remorse, and gnashing of teeth.

And Mrs. Maldon regarded her worldly and mature air, with its touch of polite condescension, as both comic and tragic, and thought sadly of all the girl would have to go through before the air of mature worldliness which she was now affecting could become natural to her.

“My dear,” said Mrs. Maldon, “I have perfect confidence in you.”  It was not quite true, because Rachel’s protest as to Mr. Batchgrew, seeming to point to strange concealed incidents, had most certainly impaired the perfection of Mrs. Maiden’s confidence in Rachel.

Rachel considered that she ought to pursue her advantage, and in a voice light and yet firm, good-natured and yet restive, she said—­

“I really don’t think anybody has the right to talk to me about Mr. Fores....  No, truly I don’t.”

“You mustn’t misunderstand me, Rachel,” Mrs. Maldon replied, and her other hand crept out, and stroked Rachel’s captive hand.  “I am only saying to you what it is my duty to say to you—­or to any other young woman that comes to live in my house.  You’re a young woman, and Louis is a young man.  I’m making no complaint.  But it’s my duty to warn you against my nephew.”

“But, Mrs. Maldon, I didn’t know either him or you a month ago!”

Mrs. Maldon, ignoring the interruption, proceeded quietly—­

“My nephew is not to be trusted.”

Her aged face slowly flushed as in that single brief sentence she overthrew the grand principle of a lifetime.  She who never spoke ill of anybody had spoken ill of one of her own family.

“But—­” Rachel stopped.  She was frightened by the appearance of the flush on those devastated yellow cheeks, and by a quiver in the feeble voice and in the clasping hand.  She could divine the ordeal which Mrs. Maldon had set herself and through which she had passed.  Mrs. Maldon carried conviction, and in so doing she inspired awe.  And on the top of all Rachel felt profoundly and exquisitely flattered by the immolation of Mrs. Maiden’s pride.