WHITEWASH
life again, and I thought I had left it far behind in little, old-world Brittany. Here it comes up in modern, commonplace New York. So the maid was in it with him? I wonder I didn't think of it before. If ever the black countess does catch up with them—"
The rattle of a latch-key interrupted her, and a moment later Mrs. Durham entered, shut the door behind her, and stood regarding her friend with a face at once serious and questioning.
"Look here," Victoria began, "I've just had a letter—"
Mrs. Durham threw herself into her pet leather chair and raised her veil. The movement was instinct with gravity. Victoria stopped short in her sentence and looked curiously at her.
"What is it?" she demanded. "Has Delmonico's burned up, or have the hansom-cabbies gone out on strike?"
"You won't laugh when I tell you," Mrs. Durham burst out. "I'm sure I don't know how to tell you, or where to begin—but begin I must. Victoria, I have heard the most awful stories that are being circulated about you!"
