'All right, come to see me next time in your Brixton-Viennese costume, and we'll have a long talk. I think you're pleased I've got a little trouble. Aren't you?' 'Oh, no--I don't want you to have trouble. But I should like you to own _he_ isn't so wonderful, after all.' 'But I don't own that--not in the least. The thing is, you see'--she waited a minute--'I believe I'm still jealous of Mrs Raymond.' 'But she isn't Mrs Raymond any more. You surely don't imagine that he flirts with his aunt?' 'Of course not--how absurd you are! That's a ridiculous way to put it. No--he won't even see her.' 'Is that what you complain of?' 'His avoiding her shows he still thinks of her. It's a bad sign--isn't it? What I feel is, that he still puts her on a pedestal.' 'Well, that's all right. Let her stay there. Now, Hyacinth, when people know what they want--really _want_ something acutely and definitely--and don't get it, I can pity them. They're frustrated--scored off by fate, as it were; and even if it's good for them, I'm sorry. But when they _have_ got what they wanted, and then find fault and are not satisfied, I can't give them any sympathy at all. Who was it said there is no tragedy like not getting your wish--except getting it? You wanted Cecil Reeve. You've got him. How would you have felt if the other woman had got him instead?' 'You're right, Anne--I suppose. And yet--do you think he'll ever quite forget her?' 'Do you think, if you really tried hard, you could manage to find out what your grievance is, Hyacinth?' 'Yes.' 'Well, then, try; and when you've found it, just keep it. Don't part with it. A sentimental grievance is a resource--it's a consolation for all the prosaic miseries of life. Now I must go, or I shall be late for high tea.' CHAPTER XXIX The Ingratitude of Mitchell Since Bruce had had the amateur-theatrical trouble, he had forgotten to have any other illness. But he spent many, many half-hours walking up and down in front of the glass rehearsing his part--which consisted of the words, _'Ah, Miss Vavasour, how charming you look--a true Queen of Night! May a humble mandarin petition for a dance?'_ He tried this in many different tones; sometimes serious and romantic, sometimes humorous, but in every case he was much pleased with his reading of the part and counted on a brilliant success. One evening he had come home looking perturbed, and said he thought he had caught a chill. Eucalyptus, quinine, sal-volatile, and clinical thermometers were lavishly applied, and after dinner he said he was better, but did not feel sufficiently up to the mark to go through his part with Edith as usual, and was rather silent during the rest of the evening. When he came down to breakfast the next morning, Edith said-- 'Do you know Anne's come back?' 'Who's Anne?' 'Anne. Hyacinth's companion. Miss Yeo, I mean.' 'Come back from where?' 'Don't you remember about her going away--about her mysterious disappearance?'