it as well because you have to go down to Apsley to-morrow," her
husband had said when she had written to her hostess excusing their
presence at dinner.

"The reason's obvious," she replied equably. "I haven't had a good
night's rest for a week--I can't sleep after eight o'clock in the
morning like you do, and I've got a woman to deal with to-morrow.
You don't want to lose the shooting and the hunting down at Apsley,
do you?"

"No--rather not--of course I don't."

"Then let me get a good night's rest."

One admires the woman who sees her plan of action and takes it like
a sword in the hand. Certainly, there was a possibility that she might
be wrong. There well might be no woman. But in her mind, she was
confident, and this was the only method of defence. She did not
hesitate to accept it, difficult though it were. The woman might be
any one--a creature whose touch would be contamination. She placed
no trust in her brother where women were concerned. He would not
actually disgrace her; she could be certain of that. A calculation
on the presence of Mrs. Butterick, the housekeeper, who was always
left in charge of the Manor, would be bound to act as a certain
restraint. But what he expected to present a quotient of
respectability to Mrs. Butterick and the gardener if he happened to
be about the grounds, might well represent sordid vulgarity to her.
He had certainly taken every precaution to be alone. Yet having drawn
all these facts into consideration, she was undaunted. The whole way
down to Apsley, sitting comfortably in the corner of the car, her
eyes unseeingly fixed upon the back of the chauffeur's neck, she
rehearsed one scene after another with a precision of imagination
that was worthy of a greater cause. Yet what cause could be greater
to her? With the loss of Apsley, she fell irremediably in social power.
Five thousand pounds would purchase another residence in the country.
But what sort of a residence? She shuddered and, in a moment of
relaxation, became aware that the chauffeur was in need of a clean
collar.

The moment she arrived, she sent for Mrs. Butterick and went upstairs
to her bedroom. The good, fat, little woman--her face a full harvest
moon, to which the features adhered with regularity but no
expression--soon followed her. She stood at the door of the long,
lofty room with its three big, latticed windows and beamed upon her
mistress. She loved the quality--the quality, she always called them