“Oh, Mr. Vernon!  I saw you and him holding hands in the dusk.  But I don’t mind if you marry him, Rachel.  I believe he is a good sort of a young man—­not the kind I could ever have looked at; but what does that matter?  I am afraid it has rankled in your mind that I once warned you against him.  But, after all, it is your affair, not mine.”

“I was not going to speak of Mr. Vernon.”

Lady Newhaven sighed impatiently.  She did not want to talk of Rachel’s affairs.  She wanted, now the funeral was over, to talk of her own.  She often said there were few people with less curiosity about others than herself.

Rachel pulled herself together.

“Violet,” she said, “we have known each other five months, haven’t we?”

“Yes, exactly.  The first time you came to my house was that dreadful night of the drawing of lots.  I always thought Edward drew the short lighter.  It was so like him to turn it off with a laugh.”

“I want you to remember, if ever you think hardly of me, that during those five months I did try to be a friend.  I may have failed, but—­I did my best.”

“But you did not fail.  You have been a real friend, and you will always be so, dear Rachel.  And when Hugh and I are married you will often come and stay with us.”

A great compassion flooded Rachel’s heart for this poor creature, with its house of cards.  Then her face became fixed as a surgeon’s who gets out his knife.

“I think I ought to tell you—­you ought to know—­that I care for Mr. Scarlett.”

“He is mine,” said Lady Newhaven instantly, her blue eyes dilating.

“He is unmarried, and I am unmarried,” said Rachel, hoarsely.  “I don’t know how it came about, but I have gradually become attached to him.”

“He is not unmarried.  It is false.  He is my husband in the sight of Heaven.  I have always, through everything, looked upon him as such.”

This seemed more probable than that Heaven had so regarded him.  Rachel did not answer.  She had confided her love to no one, not even to Hester; and to speak of it to Lady Newhaven had been like tearing the words out of herself with hot pincers.

“I knew he was poor, but I did, not know he was as poor as that,” said Lady Newhaven, after a pause.

Rachel got up suddenly, and moved away to the fireplace.  She felt it would be horribly easy to strangle that voice.

“And you came down here pretending to be my friend, while all the time you were stealing his heart from me.”

Still Rachel did not answer.  Her forehead was pressed against the mantel-shelf.  She prayed urgently that she might stay upon the hearth-rug, that whatever happened she might not go near the sofa.

“And you think he is in love with you?”

“I do.”

“Are you not rather credulous?  But I suppose he has told you over and over again that he cares for you yourself alone.  Is the wedding-day fixed?”