Josephine was closely vailed, and pretended not to see the ladies who were on the street, and who did not turn their heads as the elegant carriage went by. But Josey knew that they saw her, and felt that her worst fears were to be realized; and when, at a sudden turn in the road, they came upon Beatrice, whose cool little nod seemed more an insult than a recognition, her cup of humiliation was full, and there were tears of mortification and anger in her eyes, and her headache was not feigned when at last they drew up before the house, where a strange woman was waiting to greet them. This was Mrs. Rogers, the housekeeper, imported for that purpose from Cincinnati, as were the other servants. These, however, had all heard the antecedents of their new master and mistress very freely discussed, and the result was that a mutiny was already in progress, for, as the girl who held the post of scullion said, “she had lost one _cha-rac-ter_ by living with folks who wasn’t fust cut, and she didn’t care to lose another.” Still, the wages were good, and all decided to stay a while, and see what the lady who had two husbands living and had once been a servant herself (such was the story as they had it) was like. So they came to meet her, and thought her very handsome and stylish, and a fit occupant of the beautiful rooms of which she was mistress, and for which she did not seem to care, for she never stopped to look at them, but went directly to her own apartments, which she did have the grace to say were pretty. “Yes, it is all very nice,” she said to the doctor, “but I am frightfully tired, and nervous, too, I think. This last hot day’s ride has just upset me. I believe I’ll have a cup of tea brought to my room, and not go down to dinner, if you’ll excuse me.” “You won’t do any such thing,” was the doctor’s reply. “You’ll put on one of your swell-dresses, and go down to dinner with me. I wish the servants to see you at your best, and somebody may call this evening.” “Somebody call!” Josephine retorted, with intense bitterness in her voice. “Don’t flatter yourself that any one whom I care for will call to-night, or ever, while I remain in Rothsay.” “Why, what do you mean?” the doctor asked, and she replied: “I mean that as Everard Forrest’s divorced wife, married to another man, I am to be tabooed in this town. Didn’t you notice how the ladies we passed on the street pretended to be looking another way so as not to see me. They did not wish to recognize me even with a nod, and you surely noticed the insulting bow which Miss Belknap gave me. There was not a particle of cordiality in it. I knew it would be so, and that was why I was so opposed to coming here. I wish I had remained firm to my first resolution.”