elf was well pleased that it should be so. She would have
disdained a cheap title, but it seemed fitting that she should be known
by a more distinguished and exclusive designation than the vulgar
"Mrs", which was equally the property of the meanest of her dependants.
She was a graceful woman, with a narrow face, aquiline features, and a
society smile. She dressed perfectly, in soft satins and brocades; not
black, but of rich, subdued colours, softened by fichus of lace, while
her wonderfully silky white hair was dressed in the latest and most
elaborate fashion. To-day, her dress was of a dull heliotrope, a bunch
of Parma violets was fastened in the folds of the fichu at the breast,
ruffles of old point d'Alencon lace fell back from her wrists, and as
she moved there came the glint of diamonds, discreetly hidden away.
Elma recalled her mother's afternoon costume of black cashmere, with
prickly jet edging on the cuffs, and felt several degrees more faint and
weary from pure nervous collapse. Cornelia beamed in artistic
satisfaction.

"Mother, you know Mrs Ramsden! This is her daughter, and her friend,
Miss--er--Briskett. I happened to be behind a hedge just as their cart
overturned. It was all the fault of that lunatic, Mrs Moss--what must
she do but stick her blessed parrot cage on the side of the road, to
frighten stray horses out of their wits! It's a mercy they were not all
killed. Miss Ramsden has had a severe shock."

"Poor dear! How trying for you!" ejaculated Madame, in gushing tones of
sympathy. (What she _really_ said was "Paw dar!" as Cornelia was quick
to note; storing up the fact, to produce next time she herself was
accused of murdering the English language!) "How quite too senseless of
Mrs Moss! She really is an impossible woman--but so clean! One can't
expect brains, can one, in persons of that class? So sweet of you to
come up, and let us do what we can to comfort you. It is really our
fault, isn't it? Employers' liability, you know, and that kind of
thing! Is the horse hurt? Your hands are hot, dear, but you look
white. Now what is it to be? Tea? Wine? Sal volatile? Tell me just
what you think would help you most!"

She held Elma's hand in her own, and stretched out the other towards
Cornelia, thus making both girls feel the warmth of her welcome. Elma
smiled her pretty, shy smile, but left it to her friend to reply. She
was considerably astonished at the sudden development of