o you mean to tell me, mamma, that you have said to Herbert what you
said just now to me?"

"Certainly. I mentioned it to Herbert in the course of the evening.
He was excessively rude. He said: 'Tell Mrs. MacEdwin to mind her own
business--and set her the example yourself.'"

Mrs. Linley returned her mother's look of amazement, without her
mother's eye for dramatic effect. "What has Mrs. MacEdwin to do with
it?" she asked.

"If you will only let me speak, Catherine, I shall be happy to explain
myself. You saw Mrs. MacEdwin talking to me at the party. That
good lady's head--a feeble head, as all her friends admit--has been
completely turned by Miss Westerfield. 'The first duty of a governess'
(this foolish woman said to me) 'is to win the affections of her pupils.
_My_ governess has entirely failed to make the children like her. A
dreadful temper; I have given her notice to leave my service. Look at
that sweet girl and your little granddaughter! I declare I could cry
when I see how they understand each other and love each other.' I quote
our charming friend's nonsense, verbatim (as we used to say when we were
in Parliament in Mr. Norman's time), for the sake of what it led to. If,
by any lucky chance, Miss Westerfield happens to be disengaged in the
future, Mrs. MacEdwin's house is open to her--at her own time, and on
her own terms. I promised to speak to you on the subject, and I perform
my promise. Think over it; I strongly advise you to think over it."

Even Mrs. Linley's good nature declined to submit to this. "I shall
certainly not think over what cannot possibly happen," she said.
"Good-night, mamma."

"Good-night, Catherine. Your temper doesn't seem to improve as you get
older. Perhaps the excitement of the party has been too much for
your nerves. Try to get some sleep before Herbert comes up from the
smoking-room and disturbs you."

Mrs. Linley refused even to let this pass unanswered. "Herbert is too
considerate to disturb me, when his friends keep him up late," she said.
"On those occasions, as you may see for yourself, he has a bed in his
dressing-room."

Mrs. Presty passed through the dressing-room on her way out. "A very
comfortable-looking bed," she remarked, in a tone intended to reach her
daughter's ears. "I wonder Herbert ever leaves it."

The way to her own bed-chamber led her by the door of Sydney's room. She
suddenly stopped; the door was not shut. This was in itself a suspicious
circumstanc