“Has she liked Lady Jane in the past?” Miss Vanderpoel asked, as if she was, mentally, rapidly going over the ground, that she might quite comprehend everything.

“Yes.  She used to make rather a pet of her.  She didn’t like me.  She was taken by Jane’s meek, attentive, obedient ways.  Jane was born a sweet little affectionate worm.  Lady Alanby can’t hate her, even now.  She just pushes her out of her path.”

“Because?” said Betty Vanderpoel.

Mary prefaced her answer with a brief, half-embarrassed laugh.

“Because of you.”

“Because she thinks——?”

“I don’t see how she can believe he has much of a chance.  I don’t think she does—­but she will never forgive him if he doesn’t make a try at finding out whether he has one or not.”

“It is very businesslike,” Betty made observation.

Mary laughed.

“We talk of American business outlook,” she said, “but very few of us English people are dreamy idealists.  We are of a coolness and a daring—­when we are dealing with questions of this sort.  I don’t think you can know the thing you have brought here.  You descend on a dull country place, with your money and your looks, and you simply stay and amuse yourself by doing extraordinary things, as if there was no London waiting for you.  Everyone knows this won’t last.  Next season you will be presented, and have a huge success.  You will be whirled about in a vortex, and people will sit on the edge, and cast big strong lines, baited with the most glittering things they can get together.  You won’t be able to get away.  Lady Alanby knows there would be no chance for Tommy then.  It would be too idiotic to expect it.  He must make his try now.”

Their eyes met again, and Miss Vanderpoel looked neither shocked nor angry, but an odd small shadow swept across her face.  Mary, of course, did not know that she was thinking of the thing she had realised so often—­that it was not easy to detach one’s self from the fact that one was Reuben S. Vanderpoel’s daughter.  As a result of it here one was indecently and unwillingly disturbing the lives of innocent, unassuming lovers.

“And so long as Sir Thomas has not tried—­and found out—­Lady Jane will be made unhappy?”

“If he were to let you escape without trying, he would not be forgiven.  His grandmother has had her own way all her life.”

“But suppose after I went away someone else came?”

Mary shook her head.

“People like you don’t happen in one neighbourhood twice in a lifetime.  I am twenty-six and you are the first I have seen.”

“And he will only be safe if?”

Mary Lithcom nodded.

“Yes—­if,” she answered.  “It’s silly—­and frightful—­but it is true.”

Miss Vanderpoel looked down on the grass a few moments, and then seemed to arrive at a decision.

“He likes you?  You can make him understand things?” she inquired.