That evening she was seated alone in the drawing-room, her husband having left her to smoke his cigar, when the butler entered and informed her that Alice had returned, but was behaving so oddly that they did not know what to do with her. Asking wherein her oddness consisted, and learning that it was mostly in silence and tears, she was not sorry to gather that some disappointment had befallen her, and felt considerable curiosity to know what it was. She therefore told him to send her upstairs. Meantime Polly, the housemaid, seeing plainly enough from her return in the middle of her holiday, and from her utter dejection, that Alice's expectations had been frustrated, and cherishing no little resentment against her because of her _uppishness_ on the first news of her good fortune, had been ungenerous enough to take her revenge in a way as stinging in effect as bitter in intention; for she loudly protested that no amount of such luck as she pretended to suppose in Alice's possession, would have induced _her_ to behave herself so that a handsome honest fellow like John Jephson should be driven to despise her, and take up with her betters. When her mistress's message came, Alice was only too glad to find refuge from the kitchen in the drawing-room. The moment she entered, she fell on her knees at the foot of the couch on which her mistress lay, covered her face with her hands, and sobbed grievously. Nor was the change more remarkable in her bearing than in her person. She was pale and worn, and had a hunted look--was in fact a mere shadow of what she had been. For a time her mistress found it impossible to quiet her so as to draw from her her story: tears and sobs combined with repugnance to hold her silent. "Oh, ma'am!" she burst out at length, wringing her hands, "how ever _can_ I tell you? You will never speak to me again. Little did I think such a disgrace was waiting me!" "It was no fault of yours if you were misinformed," said her mistress, "or that your uncle was not the rich man you fancied." "Oh, ma'am, there was no mistake there! He was more than twice as rich as I fancied. If he had only died a beggar, and left things as they was!" "Then he didn't leave it to his nephews and nieces as they told you?--Well, there's no disgrace in that." "Oh! but he did, ma'am: that was all right; no mistake there either, ma'am.--And to think o' me behavin' as I did--to you and master as was so good to me! Who'll ever take any more notice of me now, after what has come out--as I'm sure I no more dreamed on than the child unborn!" An agonized burst of fresh weeping followed, and it was with prolonged difficulty, and by incessant questioning, that Mrs. Greatorex at length drew from her the following facts.