“Her health was not very good--and there was some other reason--which I have not been told.” “I know the reason, and can tell you, if you like,” said Mrs. Langrishe, with an air of affectionate confidence. Here was an unexpected opportunity of planting a dart in her adversary’s side. “There is no object in keeping the matter secret, it is just as foolish as that scheme of young Jervis’s, who was like an ostrich sticking his head in the sand. By the way, it appears that _that_ is quite an exploded idea! Every one in Hoyle knows Miss Fairy Gordon’s appearance--she is extraordinary lovely--but----” “But not mad? Don’t say she is mad!” protested Mrs. Brande, excitedly. “No, no; not so bad as that. But,” looking steadily into her listener’s eyes, she added, “poor little creature, she is a _dwarf_! She never grew after she was ten, I am told. Yes, it is a dreadful pity,” gazing into her hostess’s horrified countenance. “Sitting down, she is just like other people--but when she stands up, she seems to have no legs.” “A dwarf! No legs! And she thought of coming to me! And I was just going to write and ask her to start in November,” repeated Mrs. Brande in gasps. “Well, my dear, it is a most fortunate circumstance that your letter has not gone. What could you have done with her? You could never have taken her out except _after dark_.” This was a terribly effective thrust. Mrs. Brande was wholly unable to retaliate, and made no reply. “A dwarf!” Her mind conjured up a little fat sallow woman, such as she had once seen outside a show at a fair, and that miserable stunted native who was carried about Shirani, begging, on the shoulders of a boy. And her niece, of whose picture she was so proud, that she had placed it in a solid silver frame--her lovely niece was like that! “I wonder Honor never told me,” murmured Mrs. Brande at last. “And I do not,” was the emphatic rejoinder. “From all accounts, the mother and sisters have always spoiled the little one, who believes that she is in no way different to other people, and is too ridiculously vain. Even if she had been five foot six, I am sure that you are far happier without her,” concluded Mrs. Langrishe, rising and squeezing her hostess’s hand as she spoke. And having offered this small fragment of consolation, she rustled away. Mrs. Brande, poor woman, had been indeed trampled upon, and crushed to the very earth. She had been asked to join in her rival’s song of triumph over Miss Paske’s superb success; she had been condoled with on her own dear girl’s misfortunes; and she had been informed that she was aunt to a dwarf! She sat for some time in a shattered, stupefied condition; then she got up, and hastily carried off Fairy’s photograph and locked it away in a box, secure from all eyes, and from even the ayah’s inquisitive brown fingers.