"
Again Lavinia was silent. It was all very sad, and she felt full of pity
for Lance. But at the back of her thoughts lurked the remembrance of
Sally Salisbury's mocking face, of her vulgar spite. She was not
altogether convinced that Lancelot Vane was insensible to Sally's
undoubted attractions. She sighed.
"To-morrow, then," went on Gay, "I shall bring you the songs I want you
to learn."
They had now come in sight of Betty's cottage. Lavinia pointed it out to
her companion, and Gay, bidding her adieu, turned in the direction of
Hampstead village.
Pensively Lavinia walked towards the cottage. She had told herself over
and over again that she cared no more for Lancelot--that she had blotted
him out of her life--that she wanted neither to see him nor to hear of
him. Yet now that he had gone through so terrible an ordeal she had a
yearning to offer him her sympathy, if not to forgive him.
"No, I can't do that," she murmured. "Accident or not, that vile woman
was with him--his arms were round her. I'll swear my eyes didn't play me
false."
Suddenly she heard a halting step behind her. The heath at night was a
favourite haunt of questionable characters from dissolute men of fashion
to footpads, and a lone woman had need to dread one as much as the
other. Betty's cottage was but a few yards away, and Lavinia quickened
her pace.
"Miss Fenton--one moment, I entreat," came in a panting whisper.
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