s--the Trojan family had not done
with her yet. Garrett had been absent barely more than half an hour
when the servant again appeared at the door with, "Miss Trojan, Miss
Dahlia, would like to see yer and is waiting in the 'all." Her hand
twitching at her apron and mouth gaping with astonishment testified to
her curiosity. For weeks the house had been unvisited and now, in a
single day--!

"Show her up, Annie!"

She was a little agitated; Garrett had been simple enough and even
rather amusing, but Clare Trojan was quite another thing. She was,
Dahlia knew, the head of the family and a woman of the world. But
Dahlia clenched her teeth; it was this person who was responsible for
the whole affair--for the father's unhappiness, for the son's
disloyalty. It was she who had been, as it were, behind Robin's
halting speeches concerning inequality and one's duty to the family.
Here was the head of the House, and Dahlia held the cards.

But Clare was very calm and collected as she entered the room. She had
decided that a personal interview was necessary, but had rather
regretted that it could not be conducted by letter. But still if you
had to deal with that kind of person you must put up with their
methods, and having once made up her mind about a thing she never
turned back.

She hated the young person more bitterly than she had ever hated any
one, and she would have heard of her death with no shadow of pity but
rather a great rejoicing. In the first place, the woman had come
between Clare and Robin; secondly, she threatened the good name of the
family; thirdly, she was forcing Clare to do several things that she
very much disliked doing. For all these reasons the young person was
too bad to live--but she had no intention of being uncivil. Although
this was her first experience of diplomacy, she had very definite ideas
as to how such things ought to be conducted, and civility would hide a
multitude of subtleties. Clare meant to be very subtle, very kind,
and, once the letters were in her hand, very unrelenting.

She was wearing a very handsome dress of grey silk with a large picture
hat with grey feathers: she entered the room with a rustle, and the
sweep of the skirts spoke of infinite condescension.

"Miss Feverel, I believe--" she held out her hand--"I am afraid this is
a most unceremonious hour for a call, and if I have interrupted you in
your work, pray go on. I wouldn't for the world. What a day, hasn