Lucy Craddock stopped crying. She had the relieved, exhausted feeling that comes after prolonged weeping. She wanted to go away and forget all about Ross Craddock. She said,

“Oh, do you think I could? But there’s Mavis too. He’s got a dreadful picture of her in there. She oughtn’t to have let him have it. She ought not to go about with him. He’s a very wicked man. I don’t think I ought to go away and leave her.”

“She is with her father’s people, isn’t she?”

“Yes-the Ernest Greys. She’s very strict, but she hasn’t any influence over Mavis. Besides, she doesn’t know-” She broke off rather short and looked frightened.

“What doesn’t she know?”

Lucy Craddock shook her head in a distracted manner.

“What is there to know?” said Peter.

Lucy shook her head again. Then she burst out,

“He can’t marry her-he doesn’t want to marry her-and he ought to leave her alone. She’s my niece and his own cousin, and it’s not right! And Mrs. Grey has no influence-Mavis doesn’t listen to her.”

“Does she listen to you, Lucinda?” said Peter.

“Oh, no, she doesn’t. I don’t know what girls are coming to. She doesn’t listen to anyone.”

“Then what’s the use of your staying?”

Lucy Craddock jumped up.

“Oh!” she said, “I wish Ross was dead!” She ran out of the room and out of the flat, as if the sound of her own words frightened her.

Chapter III

Oh, dear!” said Lucy Craddock.

She was all ready to start, her umbrella on her left wrist and the handle of her bag slipped over the umbrella handle in the special twist which she hoped would make it very difficult for a thief to snatch the bag whilst she was counting her luggage or tipping a porter. In her left hand she had the taxi fare all ready, and in her right she carried the little suitcase which contained everything she would need until she reached Marseilles.