"Autumn succeeds to summer, carina, and the deep-hearted, passionate red roses drop their petals one by one.... A cataclysm swept across my life. There was storm—separation, interference from others. I was doubly betrayed. There was a woman who had been my dear, dear friend, in whom I had trusted much. And she failed me, Lily. When the crisis came, she was incapable of meeting the demands that the privilege of friendship must always make, sooner or later. Ah yes—she failed me indeed!"
"Was she—one of the people who interfered?" Lily half fearfully enquired, as Miss Stellenthorpe paused as though for enquiry.
"Indeed, yes! She was ruthless—ruthless to me, and to that other...."
"But did he—how could he let her...?" stammered Lily.
"Ah how! But—," said Miss Stellenthorpe sombrely, "she was his wife."
No revelation could have come with greater unexpectedness upon her breathless listener.
"Oh! Was he married, Aunt Clo?"
Aunt Clo bent a terrible brow upon Lily at the naïve colloquialism of the exclamation.
"Bound by our hideous English laws, he was," she said slowly. "But there are other, higher standards. He and I knew it—we had scaled the mountain-heights—but the little, feeble soul that had called herself my friend remained below, weakly wailing. The little soul that had only strength to hold on, like some small, sharp-toothed rodent! It held on—grasping the shadow between its tiny, poisoned fangs, when it could no longer hold the substance."
Aunt Clo passed a hand slowly across her eyes, as though to banish the vision of so perverted a tenacity.