And then the hen-like lady gathered her scattered wits together and came up to her own little surprise. "It’s quite time that episode is at an end, my dear," she said. "Only about ten minutes after you drove away last night,—I was having a sandwich and a glass of port wine before going to my room,—your Aunt Honoria bore down upon me. May I say that without giving offense?" Beatrix drew up short. "Aunt Honoria!" "Yes; she came straight up to these apartments, looking more like a beautiful eagle than ever,—my heart fell straight into my boots,—and asked, or rather demanded to see you." "Aunt Honoria! But yesterday she was staying with the Mordens at Morristown." Mrs. Keene was delighted to find that she held a full hand. "I said that you were out. My dear, she didn’t take my word for it. She marched, or rather sailed along the passage to your room and stabbed your empty bed with her long, thin fingers. Of course I followed. Then she turned to me and said: ’Where is she?’ I’m sure she didn’t add ’woman,’ but she as good as did. She always does. I was terrified. I felt like a shop-lifter before the Lord Chief Justice. She always reminds me of a great legal dignitary with her snow-white hair and aquiline nose and the cold, direct gaze." "Thank you, Brownie, dear, for your very charming literary touch, but please go on." Beatrix was really interested and curious. Her Aunt Honoria Vanderdyke, the outstanding figure in New York’s most exclusive society, at whose entrance into her box at the opera the whole house very nearly rose to its feet, did nothing without a very strong motive. "I tried to tell a lie—I did indeed—but somehow it stuck in my throat. Under those two mind-searching eyes I _had_ to say that you had driven away with Mr. Sutherland York." "Well, this is interesting!" "’Ah!’ she said. ’Indeed! And how often has Miss Vanderdyke stained herself with the paint of that mountebank?’ ’I really do not know,’ I replied. ’Thank you,’ she said. ’That will do,’ and went, or rather floated out of your bedroom and along the passage. I watched her from the gallery as she went down-stairs and through the door and away. A wonderful woman! If only Queen Elizabeth had been a lady she might have looked like her. I honestly confess, my dear——" Beatrix held up one pink-nailed finger. "Brownie," she said, "I feel in my bones that there is going to be a row in the family. I’ve been seen going into York’s studio, Aunt Honoria has been informed! She heard that I had come to town,—came to spy——" "Oh, not spy, dear. She could never spy!" "No, that’s true. Inquire first hand, then,—and has now gone home to——" The telephone bell rang. Beatrix’s eyes gleamed with fun and a sort of impish amusement. "Brownie, I’ll bet you any money you like that that’s mother!" Mrs. Keene rose. "Oh, no, my dear. Why should it be? It’s the dressmaker, of course." All the same she hesitated apprehensively.