ion of disasters
that the winter had provided no other years could equal. It had all
begun, she often fancied, from the day of Rachel's coming out, from the
ball, or even, although for this she could not find a real excuse, from
that visit to the Bond Street Picture Gallery. It was on that afternoon,
Lady Adela well remembered, that there had first come to her those
strange, treacherous thoughts about her mother that had, afterwards, as
they had grown stronger and more formidable, changed life for her. Yes,
it had seemed that, with Rachel's appearance before the world, disaster
to the Beamister house had appeared also. Her mother's illness, the War,
perpetual rumours of Rachel's unsatisfactory marriage, the uncomfortable
presence of Frank Breton, the horrible disaster to poor Roddy--how they
trooped before Lady Adela's eyes! Finally, more terrible than all of
them, was the complete destruction of the old fiction, the old terror,
the old submission. Lady Adela did not now dare to look into her mind
because of the horrible things that she found there.

Roddy's accident had had the most terrible effect upon the Duchess. Only
Christopher could really tell how Her Grace had taken it, but throughout
the house, it was understood that the effect of it had been serious.
"Wouldn't give her long now," said Mr. Norris. "What with this War and
what not she was goin' as it was, and now Sir Roderick, as was always,
as you might say, her pet, having this awful disaster--no, _I_ don't
give her long."

Adela of course saw nothing of her mother's feelings; she never had been
allowed to see anything of them and she was not allowed now.

The old lady was outwardly as she had ever been, although she spoke less
and, if you watched her, you could see sometimes that her hands were
shaking. She used paint for her cheeks and she rouged her lips. Her love
of fantastic things had grown very much, and, on the little table behind
her chair, there was a row of strange china animals and some Indian
dolls with wooden limbs that jangled when you touched them.

But Adela was no longer afraid of her mother. Stimulate it as she would,
force upon herself her sensations of the days when she had been afraid,
as she did, still the terror would not now confront her. There had been
a dreadful scene when the Duchess had been told that her daughter was
acting on the same committee as Mrs. Bronson, the dazzling
American ... a terrible scene ... but Adela had come