it--because you'd forgotten that little black rosette."

"No!" said Blanche, looking up; "your ladyship had never ordered it."

"I did--I did! But never mind. Two of my friends have wanted to copy it,
Blanche. They wouldn't believe it was done by a maid. They said it had
such style. One of them would engage you to-morrow if you really want to
go--"

A silence.

"But you won't go, Blanchie, will you?" said Kitty's silver voice. "I'm
a horrid fiend, but I did get Mr. Ashe to help your young man--and I did
care about your poor brother--and--and--" she stroked the girl's arm--"I
do look rather nice when I'm dressed, don't I? You wouldn't like a great
gawk to dress, would you?"

"I'm sure I don't want to leave your ladyship," said the girl, choking.
"But I can't have no more--"

"No more ructions?" said Kitty, meditating. "H'm, of course that's
serious, because I'm made so. Well, now, look here, Blanchie, you won't
give me warning again for a fortnight, whatever I do, mind. And if by
then I'm past praying for, you may. And I'll import a Russian--or a
Choctaw--who won't understand when I call her names. Is that a bargain,
Blanchie?"

The maid hesitated.

"Just a fortnight!" said Kitty, in her most seductive tones.

"Very well, my lady."

Kitty jumped up, waltzed round the room, the white silk skirts of her
dressing-gown floating far and wide, then thrust her feet into her
slippers, and began to dress as though nothing had happened.

* * * * *

But when her toilette was accomplished, Kitty having dismissed her maid,
sat for some time in front of her mirror in a brown study.

"What <i>is</i> the matter with me?" she thought. "William is an angel, and I
love him. And I can't do what he wants--I <i>can't</i>!" She drew a long,
troubled breath. The lips of the face reflected in the glass were dry
and colorless, the eyes had a strange, shrinking expression. "People
<i>are</i> possessed--I know they are. They can't help themselves. I began
this to punish Mary--and now--when I don't see Geoffrey, everything is
odious and dreary. I can't care for anything. Of course, I ought to care
for William's politics. I expect I've done him harm--I know I have.
What's wrong with me?"

But suddenly, in the very midst of her self-examination, the emotion and
excitement that she had felt of late in her long conversations with
Cliffe returned upon her, filling her at once with poignant memory and a
kee