"There were reasons," said Lady Watson evasively, and a spot of red burned on either cheek.

"They must have been strong reasons to make a mother surrender her child to the care of strangers."

"Durban wasn't a stranger. He was in the house when you were born; and really you might have been his own child, from the fuss he made over you. But Colonel Hall--your father, my dear--saved Durban from being lynched in America, and Durban always pretended that he loved him dearly."

"I am sure Durban did," insisted Beatrice. "He is not a man who says one thing and does another."

"That is just what he does do," cried Lady Watson, fanning herself with a flimsy handkerchief all lace and scent. "Look at the way he has kept you in the dark all these years. And I am quite sure that he has told you heaps and heaps of lies! These niggers never can tell the truth."

"Durban told me as little as he could," confessed Beatrice; "but he never told me a deliberate lie, I am sure. But if you are my mother, who is the woman who is buried as you?"

"Not as me--the idea!" protested Lady Watson; "as Alpenny's wife--and a nice bargain she got in that old scoundrel! She was Amelia Hedge, and called herself Mrs. Hedge when she married Alpenny, to account for you. It wasn't my fault. I'm sure I always liked to have you with me, Beatrice, as you were such a pretty child, and it looks well to have one's children about one, nowadays. But Durban would insist that I should give you up--and perhaps he was right after all," ended Lady Watson candidly "as Sir Reginald--my second husband--would never have married a widow with a child."

So the weak little woman babbled on, and Beatrice felt her heart sink as she at last beheld her mother. To think that this frivolous and weak creature should have given her birth! Then a thought came to her. "Durban said that my mother was quiet and silent."

"And so I was, for years and years and years. Colonel Hall--I never could call him George, he was so military and stiff--made my life a perfect burden, and never would give me any pleasure. I was crushed, Beatrice, perfectly crushed, and held my tongue because I could not be natural. I was a dull, dowdy thing in those days. But now I really am something to look at and to listen to!" and Lady at her artificial beauty.

"Mother," said Beatrice, accepting what appeared to be the inevitable with a good grace, although the discovery of the relationship did not please her, "will you tell me if you had anything to do with the murder of my father?"

"Oh, dear me! no," said Lady Watson perfectly calmly, and showing no signs of indignation at the accusation,--which it was, in a way. "Of course Durban made capital out of it, and forced me to part with you and the necklace because of that horrid death. But I've got back the necklace"--Lady Watson fingered it fondly--"and you."

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