But she came quickly back to the grave matter uppermost in her mind.  “Grandmother,” she said, “I received a few days ago a letter from Kate Osborn.  In it she told me that there were stories in circulation about Rowan.  I have come home to find out what these stories are.  On the way from the station I stopped at Mrs. Osborn’s, and she told me.  Grandmother, this is your work.”

Mrs. Conyers pushed down the thumb of her glove.

“Have I denied it?  But why do you attempt to deny that it is also your work?”

Isabel sat regarding her with speechless, deepening horror.  She was not prepared for this revelation.  Mrs. Conyers did not wait, but pressed on with a certain debonair enjoyment of her advantage.

“You refused to recognize my right to understand a matter that affected me and affected other members of the family as well as yourself.  You showed no regard for the love I had cherished for you many a year.  You put me aside as though I had no claim upon your confidence—­I believe you said I was not worthy of it; but my memory is failing—­perhaps I wrong you.”

“It is true!” said Isabel, with triumphant joy in reaffirming it on present grounds.  “It is true!”

“Very well,” said Mrs. Conyers, “we shall let that pass.  It was of consequence then; it is of no consequence now:  these little personal matters are very trivial.  But there was a serious matter that you left on my hands; the world always demands an explanation of what it is compelled to see and cannot understand.  If no explanation is given, it creates an explanation.  It was my duty to see that it did not create an explanation in this case.  Whatever it may have been that took place between you and Rowan, I did not intend that the responsibility should rest upon you, even though you may have been willing that it should rest there.  You discarded Rowan; I was compelled to prevent people from thinking that Rowan discarded you.  Your reason for discarding him you refused to confide to me; I was compelled therefore to decide for myself what it probably was.  Ordinarily when a man is dropped by a girl under such circumstances, it is for this,” she tapped the tips of her fingers one by one as she went on, “or for this, or for this, or for this; you can supply the omitted words—­nearly any one can—­the world always does.  You see, it becomes interesting.  As I had not your authority for stating which one of these was the real reason, I was compelled to leave people at liberty to choose for themselves.  I could only say that I myself did not know; but that certainly it was for some one of these reasons, or two of them, or for all of them.”

“You have tried to ruin him!” Isabel cried, white with suffering.