ower over
here, but Mr Greville was pretty well started before this spell began,
and if he's the man I take him for, he won't last out a whole week with
Elma among the roses. Then the fun will begin! Sakes alive, what a
flare-up! And how will the `Moss Rose' stand pickling? That's where I
come to a full stop. I can't surmise one mite which way she'll turn;
but she's got to reckon with Cornelia E Briskett, if she caves in."

Miss Briskett did not vouchsafe any inquiry as to the contents of the
letter which had afforded such obvious satisfaction. She had probably
recognised Elma's writing on the envelope, but made no inquiries as to
her progress. Relationships between the aunt and niece were still a
trifle strained; that is to say, they were strained on Miss Briskett's
side; Cornelia's knack of relapsing into her natural manner on the very
heels of a heated altercation seemed somehow an additional offence,
since it placed one under the imputation of being sulky, whereas, of
course, one was exhibiting only a dignified reserve!

Miss Briskett set forth on her morning's shopping expedition without
requesting her niece to accompany her, an omission which she fondly
hoped would be taken to heart; but the hardened criminal, regarding the
retreating figure from behind the curtains, simply ejaculated, "Praise
the Fates!" swung her feet on to the sofa, and settled herself to the
enjoyment of a novel hired from the circulating library round the
corner. For a solid hour she read on undisturbed, then the door opened,
and Mason entered, carrying a telegram upon a silver salver.

"For you, miss. The boy is waiting for an answer."

Cornelia tore open the envelope with the haste of one separated far from
her dearest, took in the contents in a lightning glance, sighed with
relief, and slowly broke into a smile.

"Well--!" ... she drawled thoughtfully; "Well--! ... Yes, there is an
answer, Mason. Give me a pencil from that rack!" She scribbled two or
three words; copied an address, and handed it back eagerly.

"There! give that to the boy--and see here, Mason, I shall want some
lunch ready by half after twelve. Send Mury right along to my room.
I'm going away!"

Mason's chin dropped in dismay, but she was too well-trained an
automaton to put her feelings into words. She rustled starchily from
the room, to give the dread message to Mary, who promptly flew upstairs,
voluble with distress.

"You never mean to say that y