she knew to be dishonest to her in any way that might make dishonesty profitable; and before Sophie had left her, Sophie had engaged herself to go with her dear friend to the Isle of Wight!  As a matter of course, Sophie was to be franked on this expedition.  On such expeditions Sophies are always franked, as a matter of course.  And Sophie would travel with all imaginable luxury—­a matter to which Sophie was by no means indifferent, though her own private life was conducted with an economy that was not luxurious.  But, although all these good things came in Sophie’s way, she contrived to make it appear that she was devoting herself in a manner that was almost sacrificial to the friend of her bosom.  At the same time Lady Ongar sent a few words, as a message, to the count by his sister.  Lady Ongar, having told to Madam Gordeloup the story of the document which had reached her, and having described her own answer, was much commended by her friend.

“You are quite right, dear, quite.  Of course I am fond of my brother.  Edouard and I have always been the best of friends.  But that does not make me think you ought to give yourself to him.  Bah!  Why should a woman give away everything?  Edouard is a fine fellow.  But what is that?  Fine fellows like to have all the money themselves.”

“Will you tell him—­from me,” said Lady Ongar, “that I will take it as a kindness on his part if he will abstain from coming to my house.  I certainly shall not see him with my own consent.”

Sophie promised, and probably gave the message; but when she also informed Edouard of Lady Ongar’s intended visit to the Isle of Wight, telling him the day on which they were going and the precise spot, with the name of the hotel at which they were to stay, she went a little beyond the commission which her dearest friend had given her.

At the western end of the Isle of Wight, and on the further shore, about three miles from the point of the island which we call the Needles, there is a little break in the cliff, known to all the stay-at-home English travellers as Freshwater Gate.  Here there is a cluster of cottages and two inns, and a few bathing-boxes, and ready access by easy ascents to the breezy downs on either side, over which the sea air blows with all its salt and wholesome sweetness.  At one of these two inns Lady Ongar located herself and Sophie; and all Freshwater, and all Yarmouth, and all that end of the Island were alive to the fact that the rich widowed countess respecting whom such strange tales were told, had come on a visit to these parts.  Innkeepers like such visitors.  The more venomous are the stories told against them, the more money are they apt to spend, and the less likely are they to examine their hills.  A rich woman altogether without a character is a mine of wealth to an innkeeper.  In the present case no such godsend had come in the way—­but there was supposed to be a something a little odd, and the visitor was on that account the more welcome.