Minna's flippancy rather offended Annette. Hardly having been at home for so many years she had many delightful fictions about the house in Fern Square. She regarded its inmates as a united and happy family, and herself as the only outcast. It was Home to her, and she enveloped it with all the unreal emotions roused in vast audiences by Madame Patti with her rendering of the famous song. She was touched by the very thought of love and pictured Gertrude radiant and all the house glowing with the happiness of this new event. The poverty of the young man only made it all the more delightful. The first play she had ever seen was _Caste_, and she often cried when she thought of it. It seemed enviable to her to have Eccles for a father-in-law. All this made her forget her unhappiness by the water, and she forgot Deedy's prying stare and lived through the next few days in a dream of young love. On the third day she had a rude awakening. After dinner in the evening she sat playing to Mrs. Fender. Mr. Fender came in and whispered to Mrs. Fender for some time, perhaps half an hour. Then he went out. Mrs. Fender sat silent for some moments, then she said. "Miss Folyat!" Annette stopped playing. Mrs. Fender was sitting bolt upright in her chair by the hearth, with a book on her knees. It was a brown book--"Enquire Within Upon Everything." There was a peculiar asperity in her voice and her whole manner was big with disapprobation. She looked very like the Red Queen as she opened her mouth square and said again: "Miss Folyat! Come here!" Annette rose and went to her. "Sit down!" Annette sat down. Mrs. Fender screwed herself up to a cold anger and went on: "I am sorry for your father's sake and your mother's." Annette's heart went down into the pit of her stomach and then up into her throat. "I must ask you," said Mrs. Fender, "to pack up your trunks this evening and to be ready to catch the first train in the morning. I repeat that I am sorry, but it is necessary." Annette's brain reeled. She blurted out: "What is it! What have I done!" "Done? What have you done? You can ask that? Miss Folyat!" "I'll go, of course. But tell me what it is that I've done. I haven't stolen anything or--or . . ." "I cannot tell you what it is. It pains me too deeply to think of it. You--you have polluted the mind of my child who was entrusted to your care." Annette understood. Deedy had been asking questions. She had been cross-examined, and the gentle art of making mountains out of molehills had been called into play. This sudden presentation of a new aspect of her escapade in swimming in the pool bewildered and crushed her. She could make nothing of it, could hardly grasp what was in the Red Queenish mind, and felt only the futility of saying anything. "You will pack up your things to-night and be ready to catch the first train in the morning." "Certainly." "Have you no words of regret?" "No."