"You oughtn't to have told us, anyhow," Tom Carringford said, turning upon Lena: he was almost distressed. "It's an awful shame!"
"Miss Lakeman didn't mean any harm—she's not like any one else," Miss Hunstan said to Margaret, with a look in her eyes that counted for more than her words.
"It's history, dear—everybody knows it," Lena cooed, soothingly. "Besides, I always tell everything I know, about myself and every one else. It's much the best way; then one doesn't get any shocks in life, and isn't told any secrets."
"There's something in that," Mr. Farley agreed, and then he turned to Margaret; "I've read some of Mr. Vincent's articles. They are beyond my depth, but I recognized their brilliance."
"You see?" Lena said, with a shrug that implied it was impossible to cover up the history of a famous person. Mr. Farley looked at her impatiently and then at the stranger-girl: it was odd how different from themselves they all felt her to be.
"Are you going to any theatres?" he asked, trying to change the conversation. "There are all sorts of things to see in London."
"We are going to 'King John' to-night."
"Mr. Shakespeare and rather slow," Tom Carringford put in, gayly.
"Ah, that's what you young men think," Mr. Farley said—he himself was under forty.
"Tell me what you do in the country, little Margaret?" Lena asked, with the air of a culprit who loved her, and ignoring the fact that Margaret was a good five foot seven. "Do you bask in the sun all the summer, and hide beneath the snow all the winter, or do you behave like ordinary mortals?"