In a certain allegorical tale, published long ago, a pilgrim, named "Good-Intent," came across a company of men, groaning under the weight of heavy chains. They had not discovered their miserable condition, till some officious passer-by had taken the trouble to point it out; whereupon, cheerfulness gave place to melancholy. That the chains existed only in their fancy, as a result of "suggestion," did not lessen their actual unhappiness. Mrs. Brutt was doing the work of that officious passer-by. She was pointing out to Doris fetters in her life, which till then had not seemed to be fetters. Of course the girl had trials; who has not? Of course she had to do things which she did not enjoy doing; who, again, has not? But though the fetters might not be a matter of pure imagination, their weight could be very much exaggerated. Mrs. Brutt gave to vague dissatisfaction a definite voice. She magnified small frictions into serious troubles. Doris was warm-hearted, impressionable, easily swayed; and the elder lady knew how to manipulate such materials. Not that she meant to do harm. Few people do. All she wanted was to bring about her own ends; to amuse herself, to make time pass pleasantly. She was kind-hearted, and by fits and starts she would go out of her way to help others. But in the main hers was a self-seeking nature. Theoretically she knew little about the force of suggestion; but practically she was an adept in the use of that weapon. This is always possible. A duck may be an excellent swimmer, with no understanding of the theory of swimming. Probably few of us grasp the tremendous potency of "suggestion," as exercised by one mind over another. Half the temptations that meet us may be simply the whispered "suggestions" of evil spirits. Half the helpful and comforting thoughts which arise in our minds may be the murmured "suggestions" of angels. CHAPTER IX Sudden Silence FRIDAY'S luncheon was in full swing; and Mrs. Brutt felt miserable. She loved to be the best-got-up woman in a room. But to be wrongly got-up is another matter. She had come in her most imposing grey silk, topped by a toque fit for Hyde Park in the month of May. And she found rural simplicity to be the order of the day. That Doris, whom she brought with her, should wear a serge skirt and white blouse mattered nothing. But when she found Katherine Stirling hardly better dressed; and when little Mrs. Stirling, who always looked as dainty as a doll under a glass case, turned up in a black alpaca, and the most innocent of country hats, her heart sank. A woman of more force would, after a moment's regret, have dismissed the subject. Mrs. Brutt could not so easily put it aside. She might have felt flattered at being asked to so informal a luncheon—"quite a family affair," as she told herself; but she was direfully troubled, none the less.