CHAPTER XXII.
Mrs.Costello said nothing to Lucia on their way home about Bailey.

She sat in her corner of the carriage, leaning back and thinking despairingly what to do.

Her spirits had so far given way with her failing health that she no longer felt the courage necessary to face annoyance.

And it was plainly to be feared that in case this man discovered her, he would have no scruples, being so needy and degraded, about using every means in his power to extort money from her.
Undoubtedly he had such means--he had but to tell her story, as he _could_ tell it, and not only her own life, but Lucia's, would be made wretched; the separation from Maurice, which she was beginning to hope might be only temporary, would become irrevocable--and, what seemed to her still more terrible, there would be perpetual demands from her enemy, and the misery of perpetual contact with him.

To buy off such a man, at once and finally, was, she knew, utterly beyond her power--what then could she do?
When they were at home, and the door of their sitting-room safely closed, she turned anxiously to Lucia, "Bailey is here," she said.
"Bailey ?" Lucia repeated--she had forgotten the name.
"The man who was present at my marriage--the American." "Mamma! How do you know ?" "Father Paul told me just now." "How did he know ?" "The wretched man had gone to him begging, and he mentioned him to me by chance, thinking I might know something about him." "But surely he would not remember you ?" "I think he would.