“Nothing whatever!” Emily declared, startled by the question. “What makes you think I have offended her?” “I have been trying to find a reason for the change in her,” Mirabel answered--“especially the change toward yourself.” “Well?” “Well--she means mischief.” “Mischief of what sort?” “Of a sort which may expose her to discovery--unless she disarms suspicion at the outset. That is (as I believe) exactly what she has been doing this evening. I needn’t warn you to be on your guard.” All the next day Emily was on the watch for events--and nothing happened. Not the slightest appearance of jealousy betrayed itself in Francine. She made no attempt to attract to herself the attentions of Mirabel; and she showed no hostility to Emily, either by word, look, or manner. ........ The day after, an event occurred at Netherwoods. Alban Morris received an anonymous letter, addressed to him in these terms: “A certain young lady, in whom you are supposed to be interested, is forgetting you in your absence. If you are not mean enough to allow yourself to be supplanted by another man, join the party at Monksmoor before it is too late.” CHAPTER XLII. COOKING. The day after the political meeting was a day of departures, at the pleasant country house. Miss Darnaway was recalled to the nursery at home. The old squire who did justice to Mr. Wyvil’s port-wine went away next, having guests to entertain at his own house. A far more serious loss followed. The three dancing men had engagements which drew them to new spheres of activity in other drawing-rooms. They said, with the same dreary grace of manner, “Very sorry to go”; they drove to the railway, arrayed in the same perfect traveling suits of neutral tint; and they had but one difference of opinion among them--each firmly believed that he was smoking the best cigar to be got in London. The morning after these departures would have been a dull morning indeed, but for the presence of Mirabel. When breakfast was over, the invalid Miss Julia established herself on the sofa with a novel. Her father retired to the other end of the house, and profaned the art of music on music’s most expressive instrument. Left with Emily, Cecilia, and Francine, Mirabel made one of his happy suggestions. “We are thrown on our own resources,” he said. “Let us distinguish ourselves by inventing some entirely new amusement for the day. You young ladies shall sit in council--and I will be secretary.” He turned to Cecilia. “The meeting waits to hear the mistress of the house.” Modest Cecilia appealed to her school friends for help; addressing herself in the first instance (by the secretary’s advice) to Francine, as the eldest. They all noticed another change in this variable young person. She was silent and subdued; and she said wearily, “I don’t care what we do--shall we go out riding?”