Venetia replied to this with remarkable calm, making no attempt, either then or when she sat beside her aunt in the somewhat malodorous vehicle procured for their conveyance, to repeat the question which had played so large a part in throwing Mrs. Hendred into queer stirrups. But when Mrs. Hendred, upon arrival in Cavendish Square, announced her intention of instantly retiring to bed, she said, with more amusement than concern: “Yes, if you wish, ma’am, but I warn you I am not to be so easily fobbed off! I’ll go with you!”

“No, no, dear child! I can feel one of my spasms coming on! That is, I can’t imagine what you can possibly— Worting, why do you not send to fetch Miss Bradpole to me, when you can see how unwell I am?”

Before Worting could remind his mistress that she had granted her dresser leave of absence until eleven o’clock, Edward, who had accompanied the ladies into the house, intervened, saying heavily: “I believe, ma’am, upon consideration, that the wisest course will be for you to inform your niece of the circumstance which made it unhappily necessary for us to quit the theatre before the end of the act.”

“You may depend upon it that it will be!” said Venetia. “Do you take my aunt upstairs to the drawing-room, while I mix a dose of hartshorn and water for her! That will make you feel very much more the thing, dear ma’am!”

She ran lightly up the stairs, as she spoke, heedless of the protesting moan that pursued her.

When she presently entered the drawing-room, it was to find her aunt sunk into an armchair, her expression that of one resigned to the worst bludgeonings of fate. Edward, his countenance preternaturally solemn, was standing on the hearth-rug; and Worting, having lit the candles and made up the fire, was preparing to take his reluctant departure.

Mrs. Hendred distastefully eyed the potion her niece had prepared, but accepted the glass with faint thanks. Venetia glanced over her shoulder to be sure the door was firmly shut behind Worting; and then said, without preamble: “Who was that lady, ma’am?”

Mrs. Hendred shuddered; but Edward, who had apparently taken the conduct of the affair on himself, replied with deliberation: “She is Lady Steeple, my dear Venetia. She was accompanied, Mrs. Hendred informs me, by her husband, Sir Lambert Steeple. I am aware, however, that these names can convey but little to you.”

“An understatement, Edward!” Venetia interrupted. “They convey nothing whatsoever to me, and I wish very much that you will allow my aunt to answer for herself! Ma’am, when I first caught sight of her I had the oddest feeling— But I knew it to be impossible, and thought it was just one of those resemblances for which there is no accounting. Only she stared at me so hard, and directed her husband’s attention to me, and lifted her hand, not quite waving to me, but—but as though she meant it as a sign of recognition! It cannot be so, of course, but the most fantastic notion shot into my brain! I—I thought she was my mother!”

Mrs. Hendred moaned, and took a sip of hartshorn and water. “Oh, my dear child!”

“Your quickness of wit, Venetia, has made it easier for me to discharge the unpleasant duty—for such I feel it to be under these unforeseen circumstances—of divulging to you that she is, in fact, your mother,” said Edward.

“But my mother is dead!” exclaimed Venetia. “She has been dead for years!”

“Oh, if only she had been!” Mrs. Hendred set down the glass she was holding, and added bitterly: “I said it at the time, and I shall always say it! I knew she would never cease to afflict us! And just now, when we thought she was fixed in Paris—! I shouldn’t wonder at it if she came back on purpose to ruin you, my poor child, for what has she ever done but make trouble, besides being the most unnatural parent!”

“But how is this possible?” demanded Venetia, looking, and, indeed, feeling, quite stunned. “Mama—Lady Steeple?Then—”

“I don’t wonder that you should find it difficult to understand,” said Edward kindly. “Yet I fancy that a moment’s reflection will inform you of how it must have been. Let me suggest to you, my dear Venetia, that you sit down in this chair, while I procure a glass of water for you. This has been a shock to you. It could not be otherwise, and although the truth must have been divulged to you it has been my earnest hope that this need not have been until you had become established in life.”

“Well, of course it has been a shock to me! But I don’t wish for any water, thank you! Only to have the whole truth told me, and not, Edward, such portions of it as you consider suitable! I collect my parents were divorced. Good God, was it the same as— Did my mother elope with that man?”

“I think, Venetia, that it is unnecessary for you to know more than the bare fact,” said Edward repressively. “Indeed, I am confident that when you have a little recovered the tone of your mind you will not wish to know more. The subject is not an edifying one, nor is it one on which I can venture to enlighten you. You must remember that at the time of that very unhappy event I was myself still at school.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Edward, must you be so Gothic?” she demanded indignantly. “Aunt, did she elope?”

Mrs. Hendred, now that the news was out, had begun to revive. She sat up, straightening her elegant cap, and replied with tolerable calm: “Well, no, my love! No, she didn’t elope, precisely. In some ways, one can’t help wishing—not that I mean—only it wasn’t the first time, which seemed to make it worse, because people had been talking for years, which made everything so disagreeable, though she was so discreet to begin with that I’m sure I had not the least guess—not, that is, until the affair with— Well, never mind that! It is not at all to the purpose, for the General was alive then, poor man, and he persuaded Francis to condone it, for he doted on her! There was never anything like it, for I don’t believe she cared the snap of her fingers for him, or anyone! A more heartless—”

“Wait, ma’am, wait! What General?”

“Good gracious, Venetia, her father, of course—your grandfather, though naturally you can’t remember him! General Chiltoe, such an amiable, delightful man! Everyone liked him: I did myself. She was his only child, and he thought nothing too good for her, for his wife died when she was quite an infant, which I daresay accounted for it. She was so spoiled and indulged that anyone might have foretold how it would be, and I can assure you that poor Mama—your dear grandmama, my love—begged and implored Francis not to offer for her, but all to no purpose! He was utterly out of his senses, and in general, you know, his understanding was most superior, and I assure you that if Mama introduced one eligible female to his notice she must have introduced a score! His affections were never in the least animated—and, you know, my dear, though I should not say so to you, his disposition was not warm!—But no sooner did he clap eyes on Aurelia than he fell violently in love with her, and wouldn’t listen to a word anyone said to him!”

She heaved a gusty sigh, and shook her head. “I never liked her, never! I daresay she was very beautiful—everyone thought her ravishing!—but there was always something about her that I couldn’t quite like. And I wasn’t the only one, I promise you! A great many of my friends thought the fuss and to-do that was made over her was positively nonsensical, but of course none of the gentlemen could see the least thing amiss with her! She had them all dangling after her in the most absurd way—and no fortune, mind you! That was what made it so particularly— However, I must own that it was a great triumph for your father to have won her, though heaven knows he would have done better to have married Georgiana Denny—Sir John’s sister, my love, that afterwards married Appledore’s eldest son—for you know what he was, dear child, not hard-fisted, but careful, and from the very start there was trouble, because she hadn’t the smallest notion of economy, besides being fatally addicted to gaming! The dresses she used to have made for her! The jewels she coaxed out of Francis!—My dear, those diamonds she was wearing tonight! I never saw anything so vulgar— And that gown, with not a stitch under it but one invisible petticoat! I wish I might know how she has contrived to keep her figure! Not but what she looked exactly like—” She broke off in some confusion, as Edward cleared his throat warningly, and added hastily: “I’m sure I don’t know what she looked like, except that it was not at all the thing!”

“Like a Bird of Paradise,” supplied Venetia obligingly. “I thought so myself. But—”

“Venetia,” interposed Edward, in a tone of grave reproof, “do not let your sportive tongue betray you into saying what is not at all becoming, believe me!”

“How did it come about, ma’am, that Papa divorced her?” demanded Venetia, ignoring this interruption.

“That,” declared Mrs. Hendred, with a shudder, “nothing shall ever prevail upon me to discuss! If only Francis had not allowed the General to reconcile him to her, after the Yattenden affair! But so it was—and the way Aurelia could twist men round her thumb—! Well, it would have been better for everyone if he had remained adamant, but he let her coax and cajole him, and then Aubrey was born, and such a pet as she fell into when she found she was increasing again—! And then that dreadful Sir Lambert Steeple began to cast out lures, so that anyone could have known how it would be! His father had just died, and left him that immense fortune, and of course he was excessively handsome, but the most shocking profligate, besides being— Well, never mind that, but he wore the Prince’s button—for he wasn’t the Prince Regent then—and a more improper set than the Prince’s people I daresay never existed! And don’t, I beg of you, my dear niece, ask me to tell you how it was that your father was obliged to divorce her, for it makes me feel vapourish only to think of the scandal, and the way even one’s closest friends—I am quite overpowered! My smelling-salts!—Oh, I have them here!”