ady as you do to me, is
no lady herself!'

'To a lady? A lady's-maid speaks in this way. The idea!'

'Don't "lady's-maid" me: nobody is my mistress I won't have it!'

'Good Heavens!'

'I wouldn't have come--no--I wouldn't! if I had known!'

'What?'

'That you were such an ill-tempered, unjust woman!'

'Possest beyond the Muse's painting,' Miss Aldclyffe exclaimed--

'A Woman, am I! I'll teach you if I am a Woman!' and lifted her hand as
if she would have liked to strike her companion. This stung the maiden
into absolute defiance.

'I dare you to touch me!' she cried. 'Strike me if you dare, madam! I am
not afraid of you--what do you mean by such an action as that?'

Miss Aldclyffe was disconcerted at this unexpected show of spirit, and
ashamed of her unladylike impulse now it was put into words. She sank
back in the chair. 'I was not going to strike you--go to your room--I
beg you to go to your room!' she repeated in a husky whisper.

Cytherea, red and panting, took up her candlestick and advanced to
the table to get a light. As she stood close to them the rays from the
candles struck sharply on her face. She usually bore a much stronger
likeness to her mother than to her father, but now, looking with a
grave, reckless, and angered expression of countenance at the kindling
wick as she held it slanting into the other flame, her father's features
were distinct in her. It was the first time Miss Aldclyffe had seen her
in a passionate mood, and wearing that expression which was invariably
its concomitant. It was Miss Aldclyffe's turn to start now; and the
remark she made was an instance of that sudden change of tone from
high-flown invective to the pettiness of curiosity which so often makes
women's quarrels ridiculous. Even Miss Aldclyffe's dignity had not
sufficient power to postpone the absorbing desire she now felt to settle
the strange suspicion that had entered her head.

'You spell your name the common way, G, R, E, Y, don't you?' she said,
with assumed indifference.

'No,' said Cytherea, poised on the side of her foot, and still looking
into the flame.

'Yes, surely? The name was spelt that way on your boxes: I looked and
saw it myself.'

The enigma of Miss Aldclyffe's mistake was solved. 'O, was it?' said
Cytherea. 'Ah, I remember Mrs. Jackson, the lodging-house keeper at
Budmouth, labelled them. We spell our name G, R, A, Y, E.'

'What was your father's trade?'

Cytherea thought it would be u