When Gladys returned to the sitting-room, upon a cry from Minette, she found Netta in a swoon. The letter was tightly clasped in her hand, the envelope was on the floor. She ventured to look at the address and postmark. The former was to Mrs Mills, the latter some illegible place in America. She wanted no more information, and asked for none. She brought poor Netta to herself with difficulty, and let her put the letter in its envelope, and both in her bosom, without a question. Netta lay on the sofa, with her eyes closed, and said not a word. All that Gladys or Minette could do to attract her attention was unavailing. But when Rowland came, she roused herself sufficiently to say, 'I am ready to go home now, Rowland: I must go directly.' And then she relapsed into a state of passive inaction. Rowland went for Mr Wenlock, and was fortunate in finding him at home. He accompanied him to Netta, and said that she must be roused by a change of some kind. Rowland said that it was absolutely necessary to write to summon his brother to fetch Netta, and that by the time the letter reached home, and Owen reached London, three days must elapse. Fortunately, Miss Gwynne arrived, and with her usual promptitude, proposed that Netta should be taken for those three days to Mrs Jones'; and she returned home at once to expedite any arrangements Mrs Jones might have to make. 'I am afraid, my dear Serena,' she said, when she had begun the subject, 'that it will put you out. But the poor creature shall have my bedroom, and I can sleep anywhere for those few nights. The dressing-room, Gladys' workroom, will do beautifully for her to sit in if she shouldn't be able to come into the drawing-room.' 'Yes,' said Mrs Jones, 'we can put a sofa in it and easy-chair, and make a regular snuggery of it.' Mr Jones came in and entered into consultation. 'I shall be thankful if she can come here,' he said, 'for poor Prothero is making himself quite ill with anxiety and overwork. I don't think he has slept four hours a night since he found her. And then, Gladys! she is not strong, she will be laid up.' 'I believe you love Gladys better than me,' laughed Mrs Jones. 'It was love at first sight, my dear. She was the first pretty girl that I saw after I came from Australia. And I have gone on loving her better and better ever since.' 'The worst of it is, that it is mutual,' said Miss Gwynne. 'I wonder whether it is on your account or Owen Prothero's that she has refused all the London swains who are dying for her.'