Earle went out, and Hester proceeded with the account of a recent dance which she had been engaged in when he came in, while Violet turned over the telegram. “It will be from Lily Cochrane to tell us she is coming, and I think I’ll open it,” she said. Hester nodded. “Ada Whittingham in green—there are people who really have no sense of fitness,” she said. “The effect was positively startling.” Violet tore open the envelope, and gasped, while the words she read grew blurred before her eyes. For a moment or two she could scarcely grasp their meaning, and sat staring at the message, and trying vainly to read it again. The branch of a trailer rose rapped upon the window as it swayed in the moaning wind, and Hester ran on. “Lottie had out her diamonds, the whole of them—somewhat defective taste considering the character of the affair. Mrs. Pechereau was there with Muriel in a black gown I’ve seen already—one would never fancy she was that girl’s mother.” Violet closed her fingers tight upon the telegram, for her companion’s prolixity was growing unendurable, and she wanted quietness to realize what had befallen her. The firelight had died away, and, now her senses were rallying, she could not read the message. Then a faint flicker sprang up again, and Hester, glancing round, saw the tension in her face. “You’re not listening,” she said. “Why, what is the matter? Isn’t Lily coming?” Violet rose up with a curious slow movement, and her face showed almost as pallid as the white marble of the mantle she leaned against. Then a little quiver ran through her, and the fingers of one hand trembled upon the stone. “I don’t know,” she said. “Let me be quiet for a moment, Hester!” Hester rose, and laid a hand restrainingly upon her arm. “Can’t you tell me? What has gone wrong?” Violet let the telegram fall, and turned a cold, still face towards her. “Tony is dead,” she said, and sank back, shivering, into her chair. “Oh,” said Hester, “I am so sorry!” The words were sincere enough, but just then the conventionality of them appeared incongruous, and when Violet made no answer Hester picked up the telegram and held it near the fire. “Anthony Palliser killed in action, Santa Marta, Cuba. Particulars personally. Sailing New York Saturday, Bernard Appleby,” she read. Then for the space of minutes there was silence in the room save for the wail of the bitter wind outside, and Violet lay staring at the fire with vacant eyes. Hester found it becoming unendurable, and touched her companion gently. “Is there anything I can do for you?” she said. “No,” said Violet, with a visible effort as she rose. “I think I will go home. You will tell your father and the vicar, Hester. I can get my hat and wraps myself. I don’t wish you to come with me.” She straightened herself slowly and passed out of the room, while when she entered it again dressed for the drive Mr. Earle laid his hand upon her shoulder.