A telegram was handed to her as she came in from the garden, her broad-brimmed straw hat in her hand, and a bunch of fritillaries nodding in her blouse. That dates and places her at once: the time was April, and she was fond of curious flowers. She stood in the doorway to get the sunset glow upon the missive, and was herself ensanguined and enhanced, a sunny-haired, low-breasted young woman of middle height, rather faintly coloured, wholesome to see, with a bowed upper lip, and clear, grey-blue eyes of extreme directness and candour. A trick of looking you full, of considering you and her answer together, she had--a mild, steady beam, a radiance within the orb which told of a hidden glory. Her brows were level, eyebrows arched; her bust, though set like Aphrodite's of Melos, was full. The curving corners of the bow of her lips assured her the possession, even when she was most serious, of a lurking smile. Taking off her gardening gloves that she might break the red envelope, she disclosed a pair of fine, white, nervous hands, and pointed fingers which wore no rings. The address, which she was careful to read before she tore the envelope, was-- Miss Percival, Wanless, Felsboro'. Opening then, she read as follows:-- Home to-morrow seven people Ingram. If she frowned slightly, it was a mere approach of the fine eyebrows to each other. She certainly smiled--wisely and meditatively, without showing her teeth. She touched her chin--a rounded, full chin--with the telegram, as she looked up at the maid who brought it. “I must see Mrs. Benson about this. It's from Mr. Ingram.” “Yes, Miss Percival.” A friendly desire to share the puzzle was now manifest in the clear eyes. “You see, Minnie, it might mean one of two things, and I am not quite sure which of them it does mean.” She looked again at the message with amused interest; but one could not have said whether she was amused at her interest, or interested in her amusement. That was part of Miss Percival's charm, that she was always baffling you. But Minnie, the maid, was demure and monotonous under the attack of friendly desires. “No, Miss Percival,” she said, and added, “I am sure I couldn't say.” She stood aside from the doorway as the young lady entered the billiard-room, saying, as she went, “Ask Mrs. Benson to come to my room, Minnie, please; and tell Frodsham I should like to see him directly he comes to-morrow morning.” She heard Minnie's “Very well, Miss Percival,” as she disappeared, smiling still, and with a slight heightening of colour. When her colour rose, it rose evenly, flooding her face and neck with the dawn-hue. There were no patches or streaks of flame; she showed, as it were, incandescent.