And behind all there smouldered the slow burning anger of the child who has looked into the face of a deserted mother.

Lady Caroom was white to the lips, and in her eyes the horror of that story so pitilessly told seemed still to linger.
Lord Arranmore spoke again.

Still he sat back in his high-backed chair, and still he spoke in measured, monotonous tones.

But this time, if only their ears had been quick enough to notice it, there lay behind an emotion, held in check indeed, but every now and then quivering for expression.

He had turned to Lady Caroom.
"Chance," he said, "has brought together here at the moment when the telling of these things has become a necessity, the two people who have in a sense some right to hear them, for from each I have much to ask.
Sybil is your daughter, and from her there need be no secrets.