She pulled off the old-fashioned frock as carelessly as she dared, considering its frail putting together, and stuffed it and the scarf into the drawer, picked up every thread and scrap of satin that might betray her occupation, and burned them. She was asleep almost before she had extinguished the candles and got her head on her pillow, and as she slept the night skies burst in rain, and at the roar of the downpour on the windows, the girl’s quiet face twitched with pain. In her dream it was the noise of the crowd waiting to see her mother hanged! In the morning it still rained heavily. For one moment she hoped the weather would keep Cylmer at home, but then she remembered that rich people with closed carriages cared very little for rain and wind. And she wanted him to go, the sooner she knew what had been found, the better. “Ismay!” Cristiane said at breakfast, “what have you been doing to your poor hands?” “Briars,” concisely. “You shouldn’t try to pick those thorny rose-berries without gloves, town child!” And at the laughing voice Ismay shuddered. Truly, such as she had no right with roses at all. “What are we going to do all day?” pursued the heiress discontentedly, the riches and luxury of her house being too old a story to enjoy of a wet day. “Just look at the rain! Let’s go out, and get dripping.” “And have pneumonia when we come in,” with practical experience of wettings in the days when she ran errands, half-clad. “Not I!” “But I’m bored,” peevishly. “Are you? Then thank Heaven! It’s a very healthy state of mind,” said Ismay drolly. “I wish I were.” “Aren’t you?” with her violet eyes wide. Ismay shook her head. “Too glad to be in out of that!” she observed coolly. “I used to be out in it too often when we were poor.” “I’d like to be poor, and work,” Cristiane said thoughtfully. “It must be so amusing never to know where you’re going to get to-morrow’s dinner! Something like gambling.” “Very like it; when you lose, and have no dinner.” “You’re so material!” Cristiane said reproachfully. “Now I want to be amused. Even stupid old Miles would be better than nobody.” Ismay was so startled that she had blushed crimson before she had time to turn away her head. Utterly at loss she sat as guilty-looking as the silliest schoolgirl who ever adored a music-master in secret! “Stupid old Miles!” she could have boxed her hostess’ ears with rage. And for once her hostess was clear-eyed. A suspicion had sprung up full grown in her mind as she saw Ismay’s confusion. Why should she get so red at the mere name of a man she had only seen twice? Could those solitary walks of hers have covered meetings with him? He was nearly always hanging about--or had been!