ance on her face.
She was silent for a moment, and then glancing up, she said abruptly: "You hated the look of that woman?"
"Well!—to be quite frank"—began Mrs. Lawrence.
"I know! I know!" she interrupted hastily. "She—She—was one of my husband's friends. I was obliged then—" she broke off, her voice trembling a little.
They were alone in the avenue, and Mrs. Lawrence put a kind hand on her arm.
"I understand dear, of course. But now you are free, there is no occasion to know such people. Take my advice—drop her. Drop her at once."
"Oh, I will!" she returned with an energy which made the elder woman laugh.
"But how unlucky she should be staying in Florence! . . . . I had to know all sorts of people you see. And some of them———" she paused again; and Mrs. Lawrence experienced the rush of indignant pity one feels for a child exposed to evil influences.
"Oh! I'm so glad that's all over," she sighed.
"Yes," said Mrs. Villiers, simply. "It was dreadful of course. But people were very kind to me, and helped me to get free. And now, do you know, unless something like this happens to remind me, I have forgotten it."
She turned her wide opened blue eyes full upon Mrs. Lawrence, with an innocent surprised gravity which touched the elder women.
