She was thinking of it to-day as she went out, and try as she would to rise above it, to feel that it was beneath her to notice anything so low and ignoble, yet it did sting with a keenness which was very hard to bear. She almost began to long for the old days in the straw factory, and the independence of being her own mistress again even though she was obliged to live less luxuriously and work more laboriously. She walked briskly on for a mile or two, past elegant residences, modern villas, and ancient halls, wholly unconscious of the more direful calamity which would befall her upon her return—of the fearful cloud about to burst above her head. * * * * * Isabel Coolidge had, so to speak, been dying of envy ever since the night of their attendance at the opera. How did Miss Douglas happen to have such elegant apparel? Where did she get such wonderful jewels? She did not believe her mother’s theory that she had been suddenly reduced from prosperity to poverty. “Mamma, I tell you I don’t believe the girl came by them honestly,” she said one day. “Why, child, you do not mean to say that you believe the girl is a thief?” exclaimed her mother, aghast. “It is an ugly word, I know, but you said yourself that you considered her artful.” “Yes, I think she is about attracting the attention of gentlemen; although, with her drooping eyes and unconscious manner, one less versed in the ways of the world would say she was the impersonation of modesty.” “I hate such prudish airs, and I do not think there will be any harm in watching her.” Since Adrian Dredmond’s evident attraction toward her on the night of the opera, she had resolved that Brownie Douglas and she should not live long in the same house. With these thoughts continually in her mind, she had kept up a constant espionage upon the governess’ actions, and to-day, when she saw her leave the house, equipped for a long walk, she concluded that the right time had come to carry out certain plans which she had formed. Watching her opportunity, when no one was about, she slipped quietly into Miss Douglas’ room, and locked the door after her. She had never deigned to enter there before, and she was now surprised to find how tastefully everything was arranged. She noticed the few choice pictures upon the walls, and here and there an exquisite little statuette or article of bronze—those relics of Brownie’s beautiful home in Philadelphia, which she dearly loved. She went to her dressing-case, and was surprised at the elegance of her toilet appurtenances. She had none so rich! One little thing in particular struck her. It was an exquisite case of Russia leather, with the initials “E. H.” engraven in gilt upon its handle. She opened it, and an exclamation of delight escaped her. Within were six tiny flasks of cut glass, with gold stoppers, filled with choicest perfumes, upon each of which the same letters were cut.