at at the undressing this suppressed anger would find
a vent, kept her on thorns throughout the evening. She tried to read;
she could not. She tried to sew; she could not. She tried to muse; she
could not do that connectedly. 'If this is the beginning, what will
the end be!' she said in a whisper, and felt many misgivings as to the
policy of being overhasty in establishing an independence at the expense
of congruity with a cherished past.

3. MIDNIGHT

The clock struck twelve. The Aldclyffe state dinner was over. The
company had all gone, and Miss Aldclyffe's bell rang loudly and
jerkingly.

Cytherea started to her feet at the sound, which broke in upon a fitful
sleep that had overtaken her. She had been sitting drearily in her chair
waiting minute after minute for the signal, her brain in that state
of intentness which takes cognizance of the passage of Time as a real
motion--motion without matter--the instants throbbing past in the
company of a feverish pulse. She hastened to the room, to find the
lady sitting before the dressing shrine, illuminated on both sides, and
looking so queenly in her attitude of absolute repose, that the younger
woman felt the awfullest sense of responsibility at her Vandalism in
having undertaken to demolish so imposing a pile.

The lady's jewelled ornaments were taken off in silence--some by her own
listless hands, some by Cytherea's. Then followed the outer stratum of
clothing. The dress being removed, Cytherea took it in her hand and
went with it into the bedroom adjoining, intending to hang it in the
wardrobe. But on second thoughts, in order that she might not keep Miss
Aldclyffe waiting a moment longer than necessary, she flung it down on
the first resting-place that came to hand, which happened to be the
bed, and re-entered the dressing-room with the noiseless footfall of a
kitten. She paused in the middle of the room.

She was unnoticed, and her sudden return had plainly not been expected.
During the short time of Cytherea's absence, Miss Aldclyffe had pulled
off a kind of chemisette of Brussels net, drawn high above the throat,
which she had worn with her evening dress as a semi-opaque covering to
her shoulders, and in its place had put her night-gown round her.
Her right hand was lifted to her neck, as if engaged in fastening her
night-gown.

But on a second glance Miss Aldclyffe's proceeding was clearer to
Cytherea. She was not fastening her night-gown; it had been careles