She nodded.

"For my sins."

"Do they bully you, then?" I asked, smiling.

"I should like to see them!" cried Cynthia with dignity.

"I have got a cousin who is nursing," I remarked.  "And she is
terrified of 'Sisters'."

"I don't wonder.  Sisters _are_, you know, Mr. Hastings.  They
simp--ly _are_! You've no idea! But I'm not a nurse, thank heaven,
I work in the dispensary."

"How many people do you poison?" I asked, smiling.

Cynthia smiled too.

"Oh, hundreds!" she said.

"Cynthia," called Mrs. Inglethorp, "do you think you could write
a few notes for me?"

"Certainly, Aunt Emily."

She jumped up promptly, and something in her manner reminded me
that her position was a dependent one, and that Mrs. Inglethorp,
kind as she might be in the main, did not allow her to forget it.

My hostess turned to me.

"John will show you your room.  Supper is at half-past seven.  We
have given up late dinner for some time now.  Lady Tadminster,
our Member's wife--she was the late Lord Abbotsbury's
daughter--does the same.  She agrees with me that one must set an
example of economy.  We are quite a war household; nothing is
wasted here--every scrap of waste paper, even, is saved and sent
away in sacks."

I expressed my appreciation, and John took me into the house and
up the broad staircase, which forked right and left half-way to
different wings of the building.  My room was in the left wing,
and looked out over the park.

John left me, and a few minutes later I saw him from my window
walking slowly across the grass arm in arm with Cynthia Murdoch.
I heard Mrs. Inglethorp call "Cynthia" impatiently, and the girl
started and ran back to the house.  At the same moment, a man
stepped out from the shadow of a tree and walked slowly in the
same direction.  He looked about forty, very dark with a
melancholy clean-shaven face.  Some violent emotion seemed to be
mastering him.  He looked up at my window as he passed, and I
recognized him, though he had changed much in the fifteen years
that had elapsed since we last met.  It was John's younger
brother, Lawrence Cavendish.  I wondered what it was that had
brought that singular expression to his face.

Then I dismissed him from my mind, and returned to the
contemplation of my own affairs.

The evening passed pleasantly enough; and I dreamed that night of
that enigmatical woman, Mary Cavendish.

The next morning dawned bright and sunny, and I was full of the
anticipation of a delightful visit.

I did not see Mrs. Cavendish until lunch-time, when she
volunteered to take me for a walk, and we spent a charming
afternoon roaming in the woods, returning to the house about
five.

As we entered the large hall, John beckoned us both into the
smoking-room.  I saw at once by his face that something
disturbing had occurred.  We followed him in, and he shut the
door after us.

"Look here, Mary, there's the deuce of a mess.  Evie's had a row
with Alfred Inglethorp, and she's off."

"Evie? Off?"

John nodded gloomily.

"Yes; you see she went to the mater, and--Oh, here's Evie
herself."

Miss Howard entered.  Her lips were set grimly together, and she
carried a small suit-case.  She looked excited and determined,
and slightly on the defensive.

"At any rate," she burst out, "I've spoken my mind!"

"My dear Evelyn," cried Mrs. Cavendish, "this can't be true!"

Miss Howard nodded grimly.

"True enough! Afraid I said some things to Emily she won't forget
or forgive in a hurry.  Don't mind if they've only sunk in a bit.
Probably water off a duck's back, though.  I said right out: