Mrs. Waldershare's reply was extremely dignified and crushing, but she realised that it was time to execute a fresh manœuvre. People were beginning to talk of moving to the hills; what was to become of her? Moneyless, friendless, abandoned on the plains? Edgar had written such a cool letter, announcing that he was sending his wife home, and spending the hot weather in Seetapore, where, if she liked, Lola could join him. In one sense, there could hardly be a warmer invitation! But this scheme did not commend itself to his sister, who lay with her eyes half-closed lazily contemplating her castles in the air. The Gascoignes were wealthy and liberal (so every one said); generosity undoubtedly begins with old friends. She would lay herself out to cultivate Angel—she would be cautious; she resolved to walk, so to speak, on tip-toe, so as never to awaken the young woman's dormant jealousy, which she instinctively felt would be easily aroused. She and Philip would be on "brother and sister," "old friends" footing; indeed, Philip was now so cool, so detached, so indifferent, she could hardly bring herself to believe that he had ever been her lover, and that she might have been his wife for years and years, the mistress of this charming house. No, she and this Philip would never have assimilated; he was much too masterful, too strait-laced, and too austere. She would play her cards carefully, with Angel; there must be fewer cigarettes, and French novels, and _no_ roulette. As the older and more experienced woman, she would influence her, and once they were alone, she would gradually assume the lead, gain her confidence, and learn her secrets; later on, accompany her to the delightful little chalet that she heard had been rented in the hills, mix with the gay throng, and marry. Possibly little Cupid—unless she could do better,—and return home, Lady Tudor. All this would cost her nothing but a little care, a little flattery, and a certain amount of invention. With these satisfactory arrangements in her mind, Mrs. Waldershare's eyes gradually closed, and she fell asleep into a deep and refreshing slumber. Before proceeding further, it may as well be stated that the small-pox scare proved to be completely unfounded and was subsequently traced to Mrs. Waldershare's ayah, who waited on that lady's lady's-maid. CHAPTER XXXV A GOOD BILLET THE unexpected guest, pleading a nervous headache (the result of fright), did not appear at tiffin, but emerged later in the afternoon, wearing a subdued expression, and a fantastic loosely-fitting garment, which gave the uninitiated occasion to marvel how it was put on? and why it did not come off? It was a confection from Paris, more suitable to a Parisian artiste than a respectable British widow, and the dogs looked at each other and winked. "I just slipped into this," explained Lola to her hostess. "It is so deliciously light—quite the latest thing in tea-gowns," and she sank into a chair with a complacent sigh.