e tore off his hat without
getting even a nod in answer. He saw nothing but a pair of vacant eyes.

"Oh, please don't be angry any longer!" he said with his broadest
east-country accent, good-humouredly and boyishly. Mary's face cleared;
she could not help herself; she smiled, and was actually going to take
his outstretched hand--when she saw his eyes travel with the speed of
lightning to a point behind her and come back with the least little
particle of triumph in them. She turned her head and met Alice's eyes.
In them there was any amount both of mischief and rejoicing. There had
been a plot then! Mary was transformed. As if from the highest church
steeple she looked down upon them both--and left them. Her carriage was
waiting a short way off; she motioned, and it came in a wide sweep to
where she stood. There was no footman; she opened the door before Frans
Roey could come to her assistance, and got in as if no one were there.
When seated she looked--past Frans--to see if Alice were coming. Fat
Alice was waddling slowly along. It was plain, even from a distance,
that a wild struggle with suppressed laughter was going on within her.
And when she arrived and saw Mary sitting in state looking to the one
side, and Frans Roey, the giant, standing on the other like a frightened
recruit, she could resist no longer; she gave way to a fit of laughter
which shook her heavy body from head to foot. She laughed until the
tears rolled down her cheeks, laughed so that it was with difficulty and
not without assistance she found the carriage-step and hauled herself
up. She sank on the seat beside Mary, convulsed with laughter; the
carriage shook, as she sat with her handkerchief to her face,
suppressing screams. She caught a glimpse of Mary's scarlet anger and
Frans Roey's pale dismay--and laughed the louder. The very coachman was
obliged to laugh too, though what the devil it was about he did not
know. And thus they drove off.

Another unsuccessful expedition, another defeat of the highest hopes! It
was a long time before Alice could say anything. Then she began by
pitying Frans Roey.

"You are too severe with him, Mary. Goodness! how miserable he looked!"
And the laughter began again.

But Mary, who had been sitting waiting for an opportunity, now broke
out:

"What have I to do with your protege?"

And as if this were not enough, she bent forward to face Alice's
laughing eyes:

"You are confusing me with yourself. It is yo