'Very few people understand Alice.'

'And fewer still are ready to make her the slightest allowance. She began life with an initial mistake—namely, that a beautiful girl can marry any man she may choose. This error is very wide-spread; but, my dear, I have never watched the career of a beautiful girl without discovering, sooner or later, that in reality her choice is remarkably small. After weeding out impossibilities, setting aside improbabilities, and getting rid of ball-room hacks, there are seldom more than two men left. If a girl, in the confidence of her own loveliness as vouched for by elderly bachelors and doting relatives, is pleased to consider that she can have any man she likes, let her try. The best men, the ideal husbands, are not to be fished for. They come of their own accord, or they stay away altogether.'

'I suppose,' said Brenda reflectively, 'that she was spoilt by the circumstances attending her early life? Her popularity, I mean. But then people will say that a good nature is, or should be, beyond the reach of circumstances.'

'We cannot help,' replied the woman of the world, 'what people say. In the meantime we must just make the best of things as they stand. Alice is in an awkward position, and it is clearly our duty to get her out of it as creditably as we can.'

'Of course. I am ready to do all I can.'

Mrs. Wylie rose from the table with her characteristic cheeriness. For some moments she appeared to be thinking, then she spoke:

'The best way out of it is for me to go down to Cheltenham and bring her back. There is a train about eleven o'clock; Alice herself went by it. We can be back by to-night—about dinner-time, I should think, or a little later.'

To this suggestion Brenda acceded willingly enough. She was rather dazed by this sudden change in her sister's affairs, and her usually clear intellect seemed almost benumbed. Her manner was similar to that of a woman labouring under intense anxiety, or a suspense more terrible than the most abject fear.

Before leaving Mrs. Wylie telegraphed to Trist, the message being kept from Brenda's knowledge. She addressed it to his rooms in Jermyn Street, and without hesitation wrote the following words:

'I am going to Cheltenham. Keep away from Brenda. Expect me in Jermyn Street eight o'clock to-night.'