[CHAPTER LIV.]
A STAB IN THE DARK.
"If there is one thing that is likely to come between you and Bruce," said Lawrence, as he struggled into his overcoat, "it is your devotion to that child, Hetty. There is nothing the matter with her at all. She is merely suffering from strawberries. I had an idea to work this afternoon, contrary to my usual custom, and I soothed Mamie with strawberries. Blame me as you like, but there it is."
Hetty laughed. It was past eleven, and Lawrence was going down to his club for an hour. The little girl had been a bit more fretful than usual.
"I'm so sorry for the poor child," she said.
"And so am I. You've done as much for her as if she were your own, but all the same I should not be sorry if somebody claimed her. I've never had the slightest doubt that she is no relation to the Countess at all."
"Then why should a woman like that encumber herself----"
"My dear child, I don't look upon it in that light at all. The child gave our picturesque friend a certain distinction--'My husband is dead, and this is my only child,' and all that sort of thing. It pays in society."
With which cynical remark Lawrence lighted a cigarette and departed. From above the fretful voice of Mamie called to her dear Hetty. In sooth, the child was running a great risk of being spoilt.
"What is it, darling?" Hetty said. "What can I do for you?"