"This is all very strange to me. I have never heard anyone talk like this before."

"You have lived with nuns."

"And they hate men. They shut themselves away from them."

"I don't hate men; I like them. I understand them. In fact I'm very fond of them. But I never let my fondness blind me to their weakness. Consider us and consider them. We let them think we are vain. We are the ones who are continually peeping into mirrors, who are concerned about gowns and ornaments. Poor souls! They call that vanity when they feel they themselves are so perfect that they need little adornment. But you will learn. When you have finished tea I am going to ring for one of the girls to show you your room. They will help you to dress and, unless you feel too tired—or would rather not—you may come to the salon this evening. What clothes have you? Have you a suitable gown for evening wear?"

"I have one for special occasions. My ... Sir Charles bought it for me when we were in Paris."

"Is it as becoming as that one?"

"It is beautiful, but I have had few occasions to wear it."

"Let Genevra see it and she will tell you if it is suitable for the salon. If it is, and you wish to let them bring you down, you may come. But if you would prefer to stay in your room and rest after your journey, please do so. It will be necessary for you to be discreet in the salon. We will say that you are convent-bred, which is true, of course; you have come from the country because your family feel that you should not stay there where there are so few opportunities of meeting people. What do you know of literature ?"

"I have read Pilgrim's Progress and some of Jane Austin's novels while I was in the Convent. When I was in Cornwall I read Sartor Resartus and the Last Days of Pompeii"

Fenella grimaced. "No Byron?"

"No ... no Byron."

"You must be very quiet to-night ... if you come down. After all, you are French. You can pretend you don't understand if conversation gets beyond you. Genevra uses her impudence as a defence against her ignorance. At first you can pretend not to understand the language. To-morrow I shall set you a course of reading. I can see you are intelligent and will quickly learn. You should be able to discuss the works of Tennyson, Peacock, Macaulay, and this new man Dickens. As to politics we're predominantly Whig sympathizers here. Negro emancipation, Income Tax and the Chartists are matters of which, I suppose, you know very little?"

"Very little indeed, I'm afraid."

"Well, at the moment you will become delightfully French if these subjects turn up. I doubt whether many will feel equal to conducting a conversation in French on such subjects. I feel very strongly about the working conditions of women and children in the mines and factories. We have some old Tories who argue fiercely about that. You ask what your duties will be. You must keep up to date with current affairs. My young ladies must not only be beautiful; they must be entertaining. Now, my dear, I can see that I am bewildering you. I am going to ring for one of the girls to show you your room. She will show you the house and tell you all you need to know. Go and pull the bell-rope, will you?"

Melisande obeyed, and the summons was answered by a maid who was asked by Fenella to find either Miss Clotilde, Miss Lucie or Miss Genevra, and send her along.

In a short time there was a knock on the door and there entered one of the most beautiful girls Melisande had ever seen.

She was fair-haired and her eyes were a startling blue; she had a small piquant face and a slightly tiptilted nose; while she was slender there was a hint of the voluptuous in her figure; and there was about her an air of suppressed amusement.

"Ah!" said Fenella. "Genevra!"

"Yes, Madam?" The accent was unexpected; in it was the unmistakable tang of the London streets.

"Genevra, here is Melisande St. Martin who is going to be with us. I want you to look after her ... show her round ... see that she is comfortable."

"Why yes, Madam." She smiled at Melisande.

"Take her along now, Genevra."

Melisande followed Genevra.

Polly came in as soon as Melisande had left.

Fenella smiled ironically. "Well?"

"Talk about a little beauty!" said Polly. "I bet she reminded you of what you were ... like all the charmers do."

"No insolence now!"

"What are your plans for her?"

"He wants me to find the right sort of husband for her—a lawyer would be his choice."

"He don't look all that high, does he?" said Polly sarcastically.

"Don't forget he's a countryman. He's got a keen sense of the fitness of things. She's a girl of obscure birth, and therefore she's suitable only for a professional gentleman—a barrister say. There'll be a nice dowry for her—a great attraction."

"And a nice picking for us, Madam dear?"

"We'll be paid for her board and lodging while she is here, and we'll be given a useful sum when we have delivered the husband."

"It beats me how you do it," said Polly admiringly. "No one but you could. Look at you! Nobody could call you a prude, Madam dear; and yet country gentlemen with nice ideas put their daughters into your charge. Young ladies from convents mix with harlots ... for that Kate and Mary Jane are no less ..."

"Now, Polly, this is where you show your mediocrity. Moderation is always desirable. Put girls in a nunnery and you'll find some of them run away—and amok. Think—but how can you know of such things? But take it from me that in the nunneries there are women dreaming of lovers—and in the past there were orgies, positive orgies—simply because of repression. And in the brothels harlots sigh for the singing of anthems and the absolution of sins. No, no Polly, life is made up of too many ingredients to present a simple concoction. To savour it we must be wise ... we must relish all flavours. Look at me. I have had my lovers ..."

"I'll say you have!" said Polly admiringly.

"I have had my lovers, and because I know men of all kinds in all their moods, I am more suited to look after the daughters of gentlemen than a Mother Superior who knows nothing of the world. We should temper austerity with voluptuousness, virtue with broadmindedness.''

"Now, Madam dear, I am not one of your circle with advanced views. I'm not a gentleman buying a powder to make the ladies love me, nor a lady wanting lotions to knock years off my age. I'm not a sterile old couple wanting a night in your magic bed."

"Be silent, you ugly old woman. What do you know of such things? How could you be a gentleman in search of virility! And let me tell you no amount of lotions would be of any use to you; and what would be the good of knocking years off your age! You were as repulsive at fourteen as you are at forty. As for a night in my magic bed—who in their right senses would want to perpetuate you?"

Polly sat down on the chaise longue, her eyes shining with affection and adoration.

Fenella smiled back at her.

They were completely delighted with the fascinating world which they had created. They were content with each other.

Melisande had been at the house in the square for a week. It was the most extraordinary week of her life; it was just what she needed to help her to forget her experiences in Cornwall. Nothing could have been more different from Trevenning than the house of Fenella Cardingly. It seemed that Fenella had said: "Such and such a thing is normal; therefore my house will do the opposite." That made an exciting if bewildering manage.

The room Melisande shared with the three girls was a large and airy one overlooking the square. It was on the third floor of the tall house; there were two other floors above it, as well as the attics where the servants had their sleeping quarters. In the room were four narrow beds with coloured sheets and counterpanes—greens and mauves. A long mirror was fixed on the wall, and there were others on the dressing tables. The chairs and commode were eighteenth century and elegant; the rugs of mauve and green. The room always smelt of mingling perfumes used by the young ladies who inhabited it.

These young ladies accepted Melisande as one of them. Their numbers, they said, were always being depleted and made up again. Few girls stayed with Madam long. They married or went away for other reasons. The girls laughed when they said 'other reasons.' They were continually laughing at something which was said.

Exciting and amusing things happened to these girls; indeed everything that happened to them seemed to be amusing and exciting. Melisande had never known there were such people. They had no modesty, it seemed. They would walk about the room wearing nothing but a pair of shoes and a necklace, admiring themselves in the long mirror or listening to the comments of the others.

In the Convent when one of them had taken a bath, Melisande remembered, they had been warned not to look at themselves. God and the saints were watching, they had been led to understand; and any sly peep would have been recorded against them. But these girls were frankly curious about themselves and others; and when Melisande told them of the Convent attitude to nudity they were amused and laughed heartily.

"Well," said Genevra, who never minced her words and was not quite a lady, "if old Sir Frances didn't like to look at me, he'd be the first man who didn't."

"Saint Francis," corrected Lucie, who, as the daughter of a wellborn man and a village girl, chose to remember the paternal parent rather than the other.

Genevra retorted: "Saints or Sirs, you can't trust any of them. I reckon those old nuns weren't worth looking at any way."

After those bewildering evenings, when Melisande mingled with Fenella's guests wearing dresses which had been selected for her, the girls would lie in their beds talking of the evening. They talked with a frankness which at first amazed Melisande. They were frank about themselves. Melisande learned that Genevra had known terrible poverty in her early days. Genevra made no secret of her beginnings. Her mother, as a girl, had worked in a factory from the early hours of the morning until late at night; she had been shaken out of her sleep of exhaustion to start work again, beaten as she was dragged along to the factory, for she was ready to fall asleep on her feet; she had stood at her work through long hours, brutally treated by the overseer who had given her two children—Genevra and Genevra's young brother.

One morning, in the attic which had been their home, Genevra had awakened to find her mother still in bed; she had shaken her and been unable to awaken her when she had realized with cold surprise that she was dead. Genevra could not feel sorrow. Her mother had ill-treated her. The overseer, who sometimes visited the attic had begun to notice the extraordinary beauty of Genevra. Genevra had no great horror of incest—nor even any knowledge of it as such—but she was terrified of the overseer. She was conscious of the sudden change of manner in a man from whom hitherto she had received nothing but blows.

She knew that her brother had been sold, when he was three, to a master of chimney sweeps. One thing Genevra would never forget as long as she lived was the piteous crying of her brother as he was taken away. She had seen him once afterwards—that was a year later—deformed, grimed with soot, and burned on his arms and legs. That was her brother—her little brother who to her had seemed so pretty when he was a year old and she was three. • "Something happened to me," said Genevra. "Don't ask me what. I only knew that whatever happened to me, I wasn't going to work in a factory."

But Genevra took her tragedy lightly. Her life was a gay one. Others suffered in this terrible world, yes; but not Genevra; and if Genevra did better than others it was not due to luck, it was due to Genevra and her own unbounded energy and superior powers.

She talked more than the others.

"When we were in the attic a lady used to come sometimes. She'd bring us soup and bread. We used to have to say after her:

'Though I am but poor and mean I will move the rich to love me If I'm modest neat and clean And submit when they reprove me.'

"I never forgot that. I made up my mind I'd make the rich love me. There's a bit of sense in it, but like most things they tell you, you have to make it suit yourself.''

"You moved the rich to love you!" said Clotilde, and they laughed again.