A new independence of manner appeared, but only on Friday mornings, and this was probably due to the increased conceit effected by young Easter’s compliments of the night before. Her curtness towards messengers from shops on these occasions was painful to regard: postmen offering remarks as she knelt at the steps in the early hours went on with the abashed air of those who have incurred severe reproof. A dramatic shock came when the month’s notice had nearly expired, that must have reinforced the girl’s confidence in “The Belgravia Novelette,” and its amazing habit of altering the situation by the wave of a fairy wand. She made a slight blunder by reading the letter without any exhibition of an agonised mind, but a moment’s consideration remedied this, and, if all I heard was true, she eventually overdid the tragic intensity required. “Oh heavens!” she murmured brokenly. “Oh my! Oh dear! Has it come to this? What is there to live for now? Oh! I think I shall go out of my mind!” “Be quiet, child!” ordered her mistress, sharply. “You’ll make yourself ill if you go on like this.” “Oh, go away and leave me to die. Oh, only leave me alone! Frank, Frank!” “If you carry on in this fashion,” declared her mistress, “I shall simply take you by the shoulders and give you a thorough good shaking. That’s what I shall give to you, miss!” “Read it, ma’am, read it, read it!” Her mistress, having complied with this request, assured her that, so far as she could understand, the letter contained important news, but nothing to justify the hysterical outburst. Irene, recovering partial serenity of manner, explained, and the other, reading the letter again, admitted there was something in the girl’s view, and that the fact of young Easter being taken into partnership by an uncle whose health was failing, might well result in the breaking off of the engagement; the two found common ground in condemning the variability of man, and the pernicious influence of success upon some minds. The girl gave a brief rehearsal of her share in the interview that was to take place that evening, from which it appeared that young Easter would have little to do but listen, to mumble ineffective excuses, to retire finally carrying the knowledge that Irene would not now consent to marry him, though he should come to her on hands and knees. “Let him ’ave it straight, I will!” cried Irene. “They can’t play about and make a fool of me. May think they can, but I’ll jolly soon let ’em know they’ve made a mistake. Shan’t talk much, mind you, but what I do say will go right ’ome. Least said, soonest mended!”