say is this--I must
have a meeting of the whole family to-morrow, to-morrow morning. Not
about this affair, about something else, something entirely to do with
me. I have been trying to explain all day--tried to write it out but
couldn't. I have to tell you something that will simply knock you all
out of time."

Suddenly the sniffing bundle in the corner became articulate.

"I didn't want to do it, I didn't want to do it--I hate him--oh, Ju-Ju,
if you had not treated me so last night, I would never have done it,
never, never, never."

"I know," he replied, "but it was not my fault leaving you like that. I
had to go. You will know everything to-morrow--when you hear all you
will very likely never speak to me again--though I am innocent enough,
Lord knows."

Then came Venetia's voice:

"This is new--Heaven _knows_ we have had disgrace enough--what else is
going to fall on us?--Why put it off till to-morrow--what new thing have
you done?"

Before Jones could reply, the warm hearted bundle in the corner ceased
sniffing and turned on Venetia.

"No matter what he has done, you are his sister and you have no right to
accuse him."

"Accuse him!" cried the outraged Venetia.

"Yes, accuse him; you don't say it, but you feel it. I believe you'd be
glad in some wicked way if he had done anything really terrible."

Venetia made a noise like the sound emitted by a choking hen.

Teresa had put her finger on the spot.

Venetia was not a wicked woman, she was something nearly as bad, a
Righteous woman, one of the Ever-judges. The finding out of other
people's sins gave her pleasure.

Before she could reply articulately, Jones interposed; an idea had
suddenly entered his practical mind.

"Good heavens," said he, "what has become of your luggage?"

"I don't know and I don't care," replied the roused one, "let it go with
the rest."

The car drew up.

"You will stay with us to-night, I suppose," said Venetia coldly.

"I suppose so," replied the other.

Jones got out.

"I will call here to-morrow morning at nine o'clock," said he. "I want
the whole family present."--Then, to the unfortunate wife of the defunct
Rochester--"Don't worry about what took place this evening. It was all
my fault. You will think differently about me when you hear all in the
morning."

She sighed and passed up the steps following Venetia like a woman in a
dream. When the door closed on them he took the number of the house,
then at the st