Meanwhile, Mrs. Roughsedge walked to Beechcote—­in meditation.  The facts she pondered were these, to put them as shortly as possible.  Fred Birch was fast becoming the mauvais sujet of the district.  His practice was said to be gone, his money affairs were in a desperate condition, and his mother and sister had already taken refuge with relations.  He had had recourse to the time-honored expedients of his type:  betting on horses and on stocks with other people’s money.  It was said that he had kept on the safe side of the law; but one or two incidents in his career had emerged to light quite recently, which had led all the scrupulous in Dunscombe to close their doors upon him; and as he had no means of bribing the unscrupulous, he had now become a mere object-lesson for babes as to the advantages of honesty.

At the same time Miss Fanny Merton, first introduced to Brookshire by Brookshire’s favorite, Diana Mallory, was constantly to be seen in the black sheep’s company.  They had been observed together, both in London and the country—­at race-meetings and theatres; and a brawl in the Dunscombe refreshment-room, late at night, in which Birch had been involved, brought out the scandalous fact that Miss Merton was in his company.  Birch was certainly not sober, and it was said by the police that Miss Merton also had had more port wine than was good for her.

All this Brookshire knew, and none of it did Diana know.  Since her return she and Mrs. Colwood had lived so quietly within their own borders that the talk of the neighborhood rarely reached her, and those persons who came in contact with her were far too deeply touched by the signs of suffering in the girl’s face and manner to breathe a word that might cause her fresh pain.  Brookshire knew, through one or other of the mysterious channels by which such news travels, that the two cousins were uncongenial; that it was Fanny Merton who had revealed to Diana her mother’s history, and in an abrupt, unfeeling way; and that the two girls were not now in communication.  Fanny had been boarding with friends in Bloomsbury, and was supposed to be returning to her family in Barbadoes in the autumn.

The affair at the refreshment-room was to be heard of at Petty Sessions, and would, therefore, get into the local papers.  Mrs. Roughsedge felt there was nothing for it; Diana must be told.  But she hated her task.

On reaching Beechcote she noticed a fly at the door, and paused a moment to consider whether her visit might not be inopportune.  It was a beautiful day, and Diana and Mrs. Colwood were probably to be found in some corner of the garden.  Mrs. Roughsedge walked round the side of the house to reconnoitre.

As she reached the beautiful old terrace at the back of the house, on which the drawing-room opened, suddenly a figure came flying through the drawing-room window—­the figure of a girl in a tumbled muslin dress, with a large hat, and a profusion of feathers and streamers fluttering about her.  In her descent upon the terrace she dropped her gloves; stooping to pick them up, she dropped her boa; in her struggle to recapture that, she trod on and tore her dress.