She couldn’t let it be known. She would be ruined, called dishonest; the yellow papers might get it—they were always writing things against the rich. Dick Ferguson would see it, and he despised people who didn’t pay their bills; she had heard him say so to Mr. Janney, remembered his tone of contempt. There would be no use lying to him for she felt bitterly certain that Mr. Janney had told him what her mother gave her. There was nothing for it but to go to Mrs. Janney and she quailed at the thought, for her mother, forgiving unto seventy times seven, at seventy times eight could be resolute and relentless. But it was the one way out and she had to take it. When no engagements claimed her afternoons Mrs. Janney went for a drive at four. At lunch she announced her intention of going out in the open car and asked if any of the others wanted to come. All refused: Mr. Janney was contemplating a ride, Suzanne would rest, Miss Maitland had some sewing to do on her dress for that evening. Both Suzanne and Miss Maitland were very quiet and appeared to suffer from a loss of appetite. After the meal the Secretary went upstairs and Suzanne followed. She waited until Mr. Janney was safely started on his ride, then, feeling sick and wan, crossed the hall to her mother’s boudoir. Mrs. Janney was at her desk writing letters, with Elspeth, her maid, a gray-haired, sturdy Scotch woman, standing by the table opening packages that had just arrived from town. Elspeth, like most of Mrs. Janney’s servants, had been in her employ for years, entering her service in the old Pittsburg days and being promoted to the post of personal attendant. She knew a good deal about the household, more even than Dixon, admired and respected her mistress and disliked Suzanne. The young woman’s first remark was addressed to her, and, curtly imperious, was of a kind that fed the dislike: "Go. I want to talk to Mrs. Janney." "That’ll do, Elspeth," said Mrs. Janney quietly. "Thank you very much. I’ll finish the others myself." Then as the woman withdrew into the bedroom beyond, "I wish you wouldn’t speak to Elspeth that way, Suzanne. It’s bad taste and bad manners." Suzanne was in no state to consider Elspeth’s feelings or her own manners. She was so nervous that she blundered into her subject without diplomatic preliminaries, gaining no encouragement from her mother’s face, which, at first startled, gradually hardened into stern indignation.