Lily asked her husband whether he knew what had become of Doris Dickenson.
"Must we mention her?" he said unwillingly.
"Not if you'd rather not. I only wondered what she was doing?"
"No good, from what I heard! Not that it amounts to much, but I did hear somebody commiserating poor old Dickenson the other day. She isn't living at home. She can't keep straight."
A vision of Miss Dickenson, to Lily's eyes so singularly unattractive, rose to her mind in odd juxtaposition to the account now given of her.
She could have laughed, but for knowing that it would shock Nicholas sincerely to hear her.
"Don't you bother your little head about her, my darling child. She's a wrong 'un, that's what she is," said Nicholas with great finality.
He looked at her wistfully.
"You have been a perfect darling to me, Lily. I know you've forgiven me, but I shall never, as long as I live, forgive myself."
"Nicholas, don't let's ever speak of it again."