"Oh, there was nothing—nothing; he assured me so himself. I would not have trusted my child's happiness to his care had he not done so. The world is so censorious, dear Mrs. Chetwynde."
Mrs. Chetwynde laughs. "True; but all the same there is no smoke without fire, you know—and Lady Jean was awfully wild about his marriage."
Mrs. Douglas looked uncomfortable. "I don't know anything about her. But I am quite sure she is all right. She is received everywhere."
"Of course," smiles her friend. "And the very openness of their friendship is guarantee sufficient for its perfect harmlessness; just like Lauraine's with Keith Athelstone."
"Keith Athelstone!" exclaims Mrs. Douglas, turning very white. "What do you mean?"
"They are always together," says Mrs. Chetwynde maliciously. "So they were in Rome, for the matter of that. But, of course, they are very old friends—brought up as children, and all that?"
"Of course," says Mrs. Douglas loftily. "Why, they were like brother and sister. Surely no one is so uncharitable as——"
"My dear, we are all uncharitable, more or less. And Lauraine is very pretty, and Sir Francis not quite so devoted as he might be, considering it was a love-match—so you said. I think I should give Lauraine a hint, if I were you."
"Lauraine is quite capable of managing her own affairs," said Mrs. Douglas pettishly. In her own mind she thinks she knows how such a hint would be received. "Keith is only a boy. Lauraine looks upon him just as a brother—always did. She is accustomed to order him about, and have him beside her. Pray don't listen to such ill-natured gossip."
But all the time an uncomfortable memory is rising up before her. She sees a pale young face and the fiery wrath of two blue eyes, and hears the passionate reproaches of Keith Athelstone's lips as he tells her of his ruined life. Good heavens! what does he mean? Why does he stay by Lauraine's side now? She feels nervous and unsettled, and almost resolves she will speak to Lauraine, and give her that word of caution which her friend has suggested. The world is so wicked, and after all—