e had been grossly slighted, and, like a true lady, would be unaware
of that slight; whereas poor Elizabeth, under such circumstances, would
have devised a hundred petty schemes for rendering Mr. Wyse's life a
burden to him. But if--if (she only said "if") she found any reason to
believe that Susan was at the bottom of this, then probably she would
think of something worthy not so much of a true lady but of a true
woman. Without asking any questions, she might easily arrive at
information which would enable her to identify Susan as the culprit, and
she would then act in some way which would astonish Susan. What that way
was she need not think yet, and so she devoted her entire mind to the
question all the way home.

Feeling better and with her headache quite gone, she arrived in Tilling
again drenched to the skin. It was already after tea-time, and she
abandoned tea altogether, and prepared to console herself for her
exclusion from gaiety with a "good blow-out" in the shape of regular
dinner, instead of the usual muffin now and a tray later. To add dignity
to her feast, she put on the crimson-lake tea-gown for the last time
that it would be crimson-lake (though the same tea-gown still), since
to-morrow it would be sent to the dyer's to go into perpetual mourning
for its vanished glories. She had meant to send it to-day, but all this
misery and anxiety had put it out of her head.

Having dressed thus, to the great astonishment of Janet, she sat down to
divert her mind from trouble by Patience. As if to reward her for her
stubborn fortitude, the malignity of the cards relented, and she
brought out an intricate matter three times running. The clock on her
mantelpiece chiming a quarter to eight, surprised her with the lateness
of the hour, and recalled to her with a stab of pain that it was
dinner-time at Mr. Wyse's, and at this moment some seven pairs of eager
feet were approaching the door. Well, she was dining at a quarter to
eight, too; Janet would enter presently to tell her that her own banquet
was ready, and gathering up her cards, she spent a pleasant though
regretful minute in looking at herself and the crimson-lake for the last
time in her long glass. The tremendous walk in the rain had given her an
almost equally high colour. Janet's foot was heard on the stairs, and
she turned away from the glass. Janet entered.

"Dinner?" said Diva.

"No, ma'am, the telephone," said Janet. "Mr. Wyse is on the telephone,
and