exceeded her anticipations.

But this is nothing; Julia is always so lamenting, and indeed, I never
yet saw the milliner's bill, however honest, that wasn't considered a
downright swindle, and three times as exorbitant as it ought to be!

"Now look at this, my dear Dulce," says the unobservant Julia, holding
out a strip of paper about half a yard in length to Miss Blount, who has
been ominously silent for the past hour. "I assure you the trimmings on
that dress _never_ came to that. They were meagre to the last degree;
just a little _suspicion_ of lace, and a touch of velvet here and there.
It is absurd--it is a fraud. Did _your_ trimmings ever come to that?"

"Don't know, I'm sure," says Dulce, impatiently; "I never keep any
accounts of my own money. I make a _point_ of not doing that. If it's
spent, it's spent, you know, and one gains nothing by thinking of it. It
only shows one how extravagant one has been, and I do so _hate_ scolding
myself!"

"But, my dear child, Madame Grande _must_ have made a mistake. It is all
nonsense; if you would just look it over, if only to convince yourself.
I am not unreasonable."

"I won't look it over," says Miss Blount, promptly. "I _hate_ looking
over things, and I hate bills, and I hate Madame Grande, and I
hate--everything."

After this outburst she makes for the door, and the morning-room knows
her no more for a considerable time. Portia looks up from her painting
in some surprise, and Julia tries to smother the thought that the final
expression of hatred should have ended in the word "_you_."

In the hall outside, Dulce almost runs into Stephen's arms, who has come
up to see her very early, being in a restless and most unsatisfactory
mood. His eyes brighten and he flushes warmly as he meets her, but she,
drawing back from him, gives him to understand by the very faintest of
imperative gestures that he is to come no nearer.

"You!" she says, ungraciously.

"Yes--you expected me?" This question suggests the possibility that he
fears he is not altogether welcome. She waives it, and goes on as though
she had not heard him.

"Have you done what you promised?" she asks, coldly.

"No, you mean--?" he hesitates.

"You _must_ remember. You were to tell Roger next day; _this_ (though it
hardly sounds right) is next day; _have_ you told him that I have
promised to marry you some time?"

There is not the faintest nervousness or girlish confusion in her tone.
Stephen, watching