‘Never. I think you’ve carried out for twenty-five years a stupendous bluff. I think you’re the most selfish and monstrous woman I have ever known. You ruined the lives of those two wretched men you married and now you’re going to ruin the life of your daughter.’

I should not have been surprised if Louise had had a heart attack then. I fully expected her to fly into a passion. She merely gave me a gentle smile.

‘My poor friend, one of these days you’ll be so dreadfully sorry you said this to me.’

‘Have you quite determined that Iris shall not marry this boy?’

‘I’ve begged her to marry him. I know it’ll kill me, but I don’t mind. Nobody cares for me. I’m just a burden to everybody.’

‘Did you tell her it would kill you?’

She made me.’

‘As if any one ever made you do anything that you were not yourself quite determined to do.’

‘She can marry her young man to-morrow if she likes. If it kills me, it kills me.’

‘Well, let’s risk it, shall we?’

‘Haven’t you got any compassion for me?’

‘One can’t pity any one who amuses one as much as you amuse me,’ I answered.

A faint spot of colour appeared on Louise’s pale cheeks and though she smiled still her eyes were hard and angry.

‘Iris shall marry in a month’s time,’ she said, ‘and if anything happens to me I hope you and she will be able to forgive yourselves.’

Louise was as good as her word. A date was fixed, a trousseau of great magnificence was ordered, and invitations were issued. Iris and the very good lad were radiant. On the wedding—day, at ten o’clock in the morning, Louise, that devilish woman, had one of her heart attacks—and died. She died gently forgiving Iris for having killed her.