young girls shut up there, and no one knowing what becomes of them—well, it won’t bear thinking about.”
Mrs. Honeycott came to a full stop, and drew a deep breath.
Without entering upon a defence of the celibacy of the priesthood or the other controversial points touched upon, Tommy went straight to the point.
“I understand, Mrs. Honeycott, that Miss Glen is in this house.”
“She is. Mind you, I don’t approve. Marriage is marriage and your husband’s your husband. As you make your bed, so you must lie on it.”
“I don’t quite understand—” began Tommy, bewildered.
“I thought as much. That’s the reason I brought you in here. You can go up to Gilda after I’ve spoken my mind.
She came to me—after all these years, think of it!—and asked me to help her. Wanted me to see this man and persuade him to agree to a divorce. I told her straight out I’d have nothing whatever to do with it. Divorce is sinful. But I couldn’t refuse my own sister shelter in my house, could I now?”
“Your sister?” exclaimed Tommy.
“Yes, Gilda’s my sister. Didn’t she tell you?”
Tommy stared at her open mouthed. The thing seemed fantastically impossible. Then he remembered that the angelic beauty of Gilda Glen had been in evidence for many years. He had been taken to see her act as quite a small boy. Yes, it was possible after all. But what a piquant contrast. So it was from this lower middle class respectability that Gilda Glen had sprung. How well she had guarded her secret!