IX. THE PLEASURES OF THE TABLE

X. THE BLONDE BEAST

XI. A WAY OUT

XII. UNWELCOME ANNOUNCEMENTS

XIII. WHAT THE PIGEON SAID

XIV. BAG AND BAGGAGE

XV. "RIVEN WITH VAIN ENDEAVOUR"

XVI. "A CLOUD THAT'S DRAGONISH"

XVII. THE REWARD OF VALOUR

XVIII. A PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT

XIX. SERVANTS OF THE QUEEN

XX. AT THE END OF HER TETHER

XXI. "WHOSE LIGHTS ARE FLED, WHOSE GARLANDS DEAD"

XXII. SQUARING ACCOUNTS

EPILOGUE

IN BRIEF AUTHORITY

CHAPTER I

"THE SKIRTS OF HAPPY CHANCE"

On a certain afternoon in March Mrs. Sidney Stimpson (or rather Mrs.
Sidney Wibberley-Stimpson, as a recent legacy from a distant relative
had provided her with an excuse for styling herself) was sitting alone
in her drawing-room at "Inglegarth," Gablehurst.

"Inglegarth" was the name she had chosen for the house on coming to live
there some years before. What it exactly meant she could not have
explained, but it sounded distinguished and out of the common, without
being reprehensibly eccentric. Hence the choice.

Some one, she was aware, had just entered the carriage-drive, and after
having rung, was now standing under the white "Queen Anne" porch;
Mitchell, the rosy-cheeked and still half-trained parlour-maid, was
audible in the act of "answering the door."

It being neither a First nor a Third Friday, Mrs. Stimpson was not,
strictly speaking, "at home" except to very intimate friends, though she
made a point of being always presentable enough to see any afternoon
caller. On this occasion she was engaged in no more absorbing occupation
than the study of one of the less expensive Society journals, and,
having already read all that was of real interest in its columns, she
was inclined to welcome a distraction.

"If you please, m'm," said Mitchell, entering, "there's a lady wishes to
know if she could see you for a minute or two."

"Did you ask her to state her business, Mitchell?... No? Then you should
have. Called for a subscription to something, I expect. Tell her I am
particularly engaged. I suppose she didn't give any name?"

"Oh yes, m'm. She give her name--Lady 'Arriet Elmslie, it was."

"Then why on earth didn't you say so before," cried the justly
exasperated Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, "instead of leaving her ladyship on
the door-mat all this time? Really, Mitchell, you are _too_ trying! Go
and show her in at once--and be careful to say 'my lady.' And bring up
tea for two as soon as you can--the _s