of dogs and books and newspapers.

"The dogs on the ground, Barrett," she said, "the books and papers on
the table there, my chair on the right-hand side of it and bring that
chair forward for Mrs. Jekyll. We will have the lemonade at once. Tell
Lestocq that I shall not want the car before lunch, ask Miss Disberry
to telephone to Mrs. John Ward Harrison and say that I will have tea
with her this afternoon with pleasure, and when those two good little
Sisters of Mercy finally arrive,--I could see them, all sandy,
struggling along the road from my room, Augusta; dear me, what a
life,--they are to be given luncheon as usual and the envelope that is
on the hall table. That will do, I think."

The man servant was entirely convinced that it would.

"And now, make yourself comfortable, dear Augusta, and tell me
everything. So very kind of you to drive over like this on such a sunny
morning. Yes, that's right. Take off that lugubrious Harem veil,--the
mark of a Southampton woman,--and let me see your beautiful face.
Before I try to give you a chance to speak I must tell you, and I'm
sure you won't mind with your keen sense of humor, how that nice boy,
Harry Oldershaw, describes those things. No, after all, perhaps I don't
think I'd better. For one reason, it was a little bit undergraduate,
and for another, I forget." She chuckled and sat down, wabbling for a
moment like an opulent blancmange.

Minus the strange dark blue thing which had hidden her ears and nose
and mouth and which suggested nothing but leprosy, Mrs. Jekyll became
human, recognizable and extremely good to look at. She wore her
tight-fitting suit of white flannel like a girl and even in that clear
detective light she did not look a day over thirty. She painted with
all the delicacy of an artist. She was there, as a close friend of
Alice Palgrave, to discover why Gilbert had not gone with her to the
Maine coast.

"I haven't heard from you since we left town," she said, beating about
the bush, "and being in the neighborhood I thought it would be
delightful to catch a glimpse of you and hear your news. I have none,
except that I have just lost the butler who has been with me for so
long, and Edmond is having his portrait painted again for some club or
institution. It's the ninth time, I believe. He likes it. It's a sort
of rest cure."

"And how did you lose that very admirable butler? Illness or
indiscretion?"

"Neither. Commerce, I suppose one might call i