“Oh, it is quite settled,” rejoined Fairy, in her clear shrill voice. “It was decided at once, as there is not a second to spare. You are to lose _me_,” and she laughed affectedly. She had an extraordinarily loud laugh for such a little woman. But there was no responding echo--no, not even a smile; on the contrary, an expression of blank consternation settled down on every countenance. Mrs. Banks was the first to recover the power of speech, as with a somewhat hysterical giggle, she remarked to the company the self-evident fact-- “I suppose the Indian mail came in to-day?” “Yes,” responded Jessie, adding significantly, “and goes out on Thursday, so we have not sent an answer to Uncle Pelham as yet.” “He does not know what is in store for him,” murmured Mrs. Kerry to Mrs. Banks, as she rose and put her tea-cup on a table beside her. Meanwhile Fairy had produced a number of bundles of patterns of dress materials, and requested the two Miss Trevors to give an opinion of their merits. This created a merciful diversion. Most women enjoy turning over patterns, even patterns for mourning, and in desultory talk about dressmakers and chiffons, the visit came to a close. “Did you ever hear such an utterly crazy notion?” cried Mrs. Banks, as soon as she and the two Miss Trevors were outside the hall door. “I could scarcely believe my senses.” “And no wonder,” said Sophy Trevor. “She should not be allowed to go; but she is so desperately obstinate, that if she has made up her mind to start, all England will not stop her.” “My husband shall stop her,” returned Mrs. Banks, emphatically. “He shall put it on her health, and say that she is too delicate, and that the climate will kill her!” “I doubt if even that would keep her at home,” said Cara, who knew Fairy well. “How wretched Mrs. Gordon looked. Fairy is her idol, and turns her round her little finger, and I like Fairy the least of the family--she is so selfish and so vain. Poor Honor is her slave, and indeed they all give in to her far too much; but if they allow her to go out to India, they will never see a penny of their rich uncle’s money. He is expecting a nice, comely, ordinary girl, not a little monster!” “Oh, Cara!” protested her sister, in a deeply shocked voice. “Well, you know she _is_ a monster of selfishness and vanity,” retorted Cara with unabashed persistence. The Rev. James Kerry, who was trudging behind with his wife, displayed an unusually elongated upper lip--sure sign of excessive mental perturbation. “Preposterous!” he exclaimed. “That child exercises a most baneful influence over her parent. I must see Mrs. Gordon alone, and reason her out of this insane project.”