Don't you feel yourself that you are old-fashioned?"
Mrs. Meadows's half-sarcastic look at first intimidated her visitor, and
then spurred her into further attempts to explain herself.
"I daresay it's old-fashioned," she said slowly, "but I'm sure it's
what father would have felt. Anyway, I went off to try and find out what
I could. I went first to a little club I belong to--for professional
women--near the Strand, and I asked one or two women I found there--who
know artists--and models--and write for papers. And very soon I found
out a great deal. I didn't have to go to the man whose address Mr.
Bentley gave me. Madame Vavasour _is_ a horrid woman! This is not the
first young man she's fleeced--by a long way. There was a man--younger
than Mr. Dunstable, a boy of nineteen--three years ago. She got him to
promise to marry her; and the parents came down, and paid her enormously
to let him go. Now she's got through all that money, and she boasts
she's going to marry young Dunstable before his parents know anything
about it.
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