Rachel had been stirred to a quick response. "Oh, if you don't believe me, you'd better come and see for yourself," she had said. "Come this afternoon--to tea." And afterwards, even when Adrian had humbly sought to make amends for his unwarrantable jealousy, she had stuck to that invitation. The moment that she had issued it, she had had a sense of relief, a sense of having gratefully confessed her weakness. Adrian's visit would consummate that confession, and thereafter she would have no further secrets from him. And if he found that he could no longer love her after he had seen her as she was, well, it would be better in the end than that he should marry a simulacrum and make the discovery by slow degrees. "Yes, come this afternoon. We'll expect you about four" had been her last words to him. And, now, she had to tell her aunt, who was still unaware that such a person as Adrian Flemming existed. Rachel postponed the telling until after lunch. Her knowledge of Miss Deane, though in some respects it equalled her knowledge of her own mind, did not tell her how her aunt would take this particular piece of news. She might possibly, Rachel thought, be annoyed, fearful lest her beloved looking-glass should be stolen from her. But she could wait no longer. In half an hour Miss Deane would go upstairs to rest, and Adrian himself would be in the house before she appeared again. "I've something to tell you, aunt," Rachel began abruptly. Miss Deane put up her lorgnette and surveyed her lovely portrait with an interested air. "Aunt--I've never told you and I know I ought to have," Rachel blurted out. "But I'm--I'm engaged to a Mr. Adrian Flemming, and he's coming here to call on you--to call on us, this afternoon at four o'clock." Miss Deane closed her eyes and gave a little sigh. "You might have given me _rather_ longer notice, dear," she said. "It isn't two yet," Rachel replied. "There are more than two hours to get ready for him." Miss Deane bridled slightly. "I must have my rest before he comes," she said, and added: "I suppose you've told him about us, dear?" "About _you_?" Rachel asked. Miss Deane nodded, complacently. "Well, not very much," Rachel admitted. Miss Dean's look, as she playfully threatened Rachel with her long-handled lorgnette, was distinctly sly. "Then he doesn't know yet that there are two of us?" she simpered. "Won't it be just a little bit of a shock to him, my dear?" Rachel drew a long breath and leaned back in her chair. "Yes," she said curtly, "I expect it will."