“Ah,” said Mrs. Shanks, “she would find that hard with me; for I am nearly bald on the top of my head.” “And don’t you try something for it?” said the other blandly. Miss Mildmay was herself anxiously in search of “something” that might still restore to her, though changed in colour, the abundance of the locks of her youth. “I try a cap for it,” said the other, “which covers everything up nicely. What the eye does not see the heart does not grieve--not like you, Ruth Mildmay, that have so much hair. Did you feel it standing up on end when you heard of Stella’s escapade?” “I formed my opinion of Stella’s escapade long ago,” said Miss Mildmay. “I thought it mad--simply mad, like so many things she does; but I hoped nobody would take any notice, and I did not mean to be the first to say anything.” “Well, it just shows how innocent I am,” said Mrs. Shanks, “an old married woman that ought to know better! Why, I never thought any harm of it at all! I thought they had just pushed off a bit, three young fools!” “But why did they push off a bit--that is the question? They might have looked at the boat; but why should she go out, a girl with two men?” “Well, two was better than one, surely, Ruth Mildmay! If it had been one, why, you might have said--but there’s safety in numbers--besides, one man in a little yacht with a big sail. I hate those things myself,” said Mrs. Shanks. “I would not put my foot in one of them to save my life. They are like guns which no one believes are ever loaded till they go off and kill you before you know. “I have no objection to yachting, for my part. My. Uncle Sir Ralph was a great yachtsman. I have often been out with him. The worst of these girls is that they’ve nobody to give them a little understanding of things--nobody that knows. Old Tredgold can buy anything for them, but he can’t tell them how to behave. And even Katherine, you know----” “Oh, Katherine--I have no patience with Katherine. She lets that little thing do whatever she pleases.” “As if any one could control Stella, a spoilt child if ever there was one! May I ask you, Jane Shanks, what you intend to do?” “To do?” cried Mrs. Shanks, her face, which was a little red by nature, paling suddenly. She stopped short in the very act of cutting a dahlia, a large very double purple one, into which the usual colour of her cheeks seemed to have gone. “Oh, for goodness’ sake take care of those earwigs,” cried Miss Mildmay. “I hate dahlias for that--they are always full of earwigs. When I was a little child I thought I had got one in my ear. You know the nursery-maids always say they go into your ear. And the miserable night I had! I have never forgotten it. There is one on the rails, I declare.” “Are we talking of earwigs--or of anything more important?” Mrs. Shanks cried.