His head was still between his arms upon the table and his body still shaking, when the door opened and Bassett entered the room and stood gazing at him in a state of mild alarm. He stood for a minute diagnosing the case, and then, putting down a handful of papers, crossed softly to the mantel-piece and filled a tumbler with water. He came back and touched the junior partner respectfully on the elbow. “Will you try and drink some of this, sir?” he said, soothingly. The startled Robert threw up his arm. There was a crash of glass, and Bassett, with his legs apart and the water streaming down his face, stood regarding him with owlish consternation. His idea that the junior partner was suffering from a species of fit was confirmed by the latter suddenly snatching his hat from its peg and darting wildly from the room. CHAPTER XXI MRS. WILLETT sat in her small and over-furnished living-room in a state of open-eyed amazement. Only five minutes before she had left the room to look for a pair of shoes whose easiness was their sole reason for survival, and as a last hope had looked under Cecilia’s bed, and discovered the parcels. Three parcels all done up in brown paper and ready for the post, addressed in Cecilia’s handwriting to:— MRS. P. TRUEFITT, Findlater’s Private Hotel, Finsbury Circus, London. She smoothed her cap-strings down with trembling hands and tried to think. The autumn evening was closing in, but she made no attempt to obtain a light. Her mind was becoming active, and the shadows aided thought. At ten o’clock her daughter, returning from Tranquil Vale, was surprised to find her still sitting in the dark. “Why, haven’t you had any supper?” she inquired, lighting the gas. “I didn’t want any,” said her mother, blinking at the sudden light. Miss Willett turned and pulled down the blinds. Then she came back, and, standing behind her mother’s chair, placed a hand upon her shoulder. “It—it will be lonely for you when I’ve gone, mother,” she said, smoothing the old lady’s lace collar. “Gone?” repeated Mrs. Willett. “Gone? Why, has that woman consented to go at last?” Miss Willett shrank back. “No,” she said, trembling, “but—” “You can’t marry till she does,” said Mrs. Willett, gripping the arms of her chair. “Not with my consent, at any rate. Remember that. _I’m_ not going to give way; she must.” Miss Willett said “Yes, mother,” in a dutiful voice, and then, avoiding her gaze, took a few biscuits from the sideboard. “There’s a difference between strength of mind and obstinacy,” continued Mrs. Willett. “It’s obstinacy with her—sheer obstinacy; and I am not going to bow down to it—there’s no reason why I should.” Miss Willett said “No, mother.” “If other people like to bow down to her,” said Mrs. Willett, smoothing her dress over her knees, “that’s their look-out. But she won’t get me doing it.”