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how it seemed as if a fishwife, a vulgar scold, stood there, screaming for all the world to hear.

“You understand quite enough, but since you like to pretend to me that you don’t, I’ll put things as plain as you like for you. You come here with your baby’s eyes and your fine lady ways and you encourage a poor young fellow to fall in love with you—then you play fast and loose with him, just as much as suits you. One day you’ll ride with him, next day you won’t—airs and graces, ups and downs. Then you’ll get him into a corner that compromising that the whole country’s ringing with it, and still you make believe to hold him at arm’s length. Are you a fool? I know better! You’ll not dare to go back to England with that story hanging about you when Alick’s here, and so much in love that he’s only anxious to marry you—the one thing that’ll stop, the talk.”

She paused for breath. Pamela knew that every word she had said had sunk into her soul, branding and scarring it, but just now she could only seize on one thing.

“My behaviour? You can have heard nothing of the truth. And—talk? What talk is there?”

“It’s no use beating about the bush with me now,” her aunt hissed. “I’ve held my peace as long as I could stand it—now we’ll have straight dealing. Do you think I don’t know Allck Power? Do you think I don’t know the way a girl with a pretty face and a soft voice can make any sort of a fool of a man? As for talk—do you suppose the Masons held their tongues?—or our own men outside? Go into town now and see the way people will look at you. Go———”

“Stop!” Pamela stood up. “I will not hear another word. If Uncle Markham were here you would not dare to speak to me like this.”

Cruel and angry as Aunt Rosa had looked before, a passion of hate transformed her face now.