an inky jet, which rose straight up in the air, separated into a
multitude of tiny drops, and descended in a flood--oh, the horror of
that moment!--over Rosalind's face, neck, and dress.

One moment a fairy princess, a goddess of summer, the next a figure of
fun with black spots scattered thickly over cheeks and nose, a big
splash on the white shoulder, and inky daubs dotted here and there
between the rose-leaves. What a transformation! What a spectacle of
horror! Peggy stood transfixed; Mellicent screamed in terror; and
Esther ran forward, handkerchief in hand, only to be waved aside with
angry vehemence. Rosalind's face was convulsed with anger; she stamped
her foot and spoke at the pitch of her voice, as if she had no control
over her feelings.

"Oh, oh, oh! You wicked girl! you hateful, detestable girl! You did it
on purpose, because you were in a temper! You have been in a temper all
the afternoon! You have spoiled my dress! I was weady to go
downstairs. It is eight o'clock. In a few minutes everyone will be
here, and oh, what shall I do--what shall I do! Whatever will mother
say when she sees me?"

As if to give a practical answer to this inquiry, there came a sound of
hasty footsteps in the corridor, the door flew open, and Lady Darcy
rushed in, followed by the French maid.

"My darling, what is it? I heard your voice. Has something happened?
Oh-h!" She stopped short, paralysed with consternation, while the maid
wrung her hands in despair. "Rosalind, what _have_ you done to
yourself?"

"Nothing, nothing! It was Peggy Saville; she splashed me with her
horrid boot-polish--I gave it to her for her shoes. It is on my face,
my neck, in my mouth--"

"I was pulling the cork. It came out with a jerk. I didn't know; I
didn't see!--"

Lady Darcy's face stiffened with an expression of icy displeasure.

"It is too annoying! Your dress spoiled at the last moment!
Inexcusable carelessness! What is to be done, Marie? I am in despair!"

The Frenchwoman shrugged her shoulders with an indignant glance in
Peggy's direction.

"There is nothing to do. Put on another dress--that is all.
Mademoiselle must change as quick as she can. If I sponge the spots, I
spoil the whole thing at once."

"But you could cut them out, couldn't you?" cried Peggy, the picture of
woe, yet miserably eager to make what amends she could. "You could cut
out the spots with sharp scissors, and the holes would not show,