t. Aunt Philippa had apparently
determined to spend her time in transforming her young niece into a
practical housewife--a gigantic task which she tackled with praiseworthy
zeal. She had already instituted several reforms in the household, and
her thrifty mind contemplated several more. Chris's attitude, which had
at first been one of indifference, had gradually developed into one of
passive resistance. She was, as a matter of fact, too preoccupied just
then to turn her attention to active opposition; but she did not pretend
to enjoy the tutelage thus ruthlessly pressed upon her. She had been
compelled to relinquish her readings with Bertrand, of whom she now saw
very little; for, though rigidly courteous at all times, he consistently
avoided Aunt Philippa whenever possible. She on her part treated him with
disdainful sufferance, much as she had treated Cinders in the old days.
She resented his presence, but endured it perforce.

Under these circumstances it was not surprising that there should occur
moments of occasional friction between her niece and herself, especially
since, under the most favourable conditions, they had never yet managed
to discover a single point in common.

This constant jarring in the background of the ceaseless anxiety that
consumed her night and day had worn Chris's nerves to a very thin edge,
and now that relief had come at last in the form of the letter she held
in her hand she was almost too spent to feel it. The tension had endured
for so long that it seemed impossible that it could have relaxed all in a
moment. She had received a roll of banknotes from her brother two days
before, but that had in a fashion but added to her fever of unrest. Now
that she knew them to be safe in the pocket of the blackguard for whom
they were intended, now surely was the time for peace to return.

But had it? Standing there, still reading and re-reading those gibing
words, she asked herself dully if ever peace could return to her--the
thoughtless, happy peace of her childhood that she had valued so
lightly--the careless security of a mind at rest. Had it gone from her
for ever? Was that also buried among the rocks at Valpre? She
wondered--she wondered!

There came a low knock at the door between her room and her husband's.
She started violently. He had been in town for a few hours. She had not
expected him back for another quarter of an hour at least.

"Oh no," she called out quickly, "you can't come in!