Jane hurried down the hall, Sophy’s laments in her ears. She found Olive sitting on the foot of her mother’s bed talking perturbedly with the elder woman, in the effort to dissuade her from the purpose of attempting to entertain any guests whatever in the circumstances. But it became evident to Jane at once that Mrs. Townsend was not to be dissuaded. "There must be somebody to be had," she asserted, as Jane drew up a chair, after laying a cool hand on the aching forehead and expressing her sympathy with the headache. "It can’t be possible that Lemare could n’t send me somebody if he understood the necessity--or Perceval. We don’t need much done. Cook had all the preliminary baking done yesterday. It’s only to get everything together." "But that’s the whole of it, mother," Olive urged. "You may say it’s only a simple luncheon, but Norah and Mary are certainly not equal to it. Is n’t it excuse enough to send those women word that you ’re ill? I ’ll telephone--or write notes, if you prefer." She rose as she spoke, but Mrs. Townsend waved an agitated hand, and shook her head violently. "You don’t understand," she moaned, pressing her hand to her head and falling back among the pillows. "There are reasons why I can’t have this thing fail. Mrs. Arlo Stevenson is a most difficult person to get for any affair whatever--and this is particularly in her honour. I could have had a caterer, of course, but I consider it not good form to put small entertaining into any hands but one’s cook’s. I am indebted to Mrs. Wister very deeply, and she is bringing a guest whom she is very anxious to have meet Mrs. Stevenson. There are other reasons----" "But, mother"--Olive’s tone was growing impatient--"what can’t be, can’t be. We can’t get any one." "Perhaps I could do it," Jane began, with some hesitation. "If it’s really a simple luncheon----" "It is!" Mrs. Townsend spoke with eagerness. "I might not be able to manage the most elaborate dishes----" "Cook can’t be too ill to tell you what is necessary." "But, mother," Olive protested, "Jane must be at the table. She can’t be in the kitchen, sending in courses." "That’s of no consequence," declared Jane, quickly. "I don’t mind missing the luncheon in the least." "They are all older women," murmured Mrs. Townsend, closing her eyes wearily. When Olive took things in hand, it was always difficult to oppose her. "Yes, but Jane is our bride. And you expect me to be there. If Jane stays in the kitchen, so shall I." "I don’t know what to do," and the poor lady on the bed, among her pillows, looked as if she were indeed suffering. There was a minute’s silence. Then Jane spoke with gentle decision.