“It’s a funny thing that every time your mistress gives an At Home you are always behindhand with your work.” Mollie expressed her feelings in the firegrate. “It’s a funny thing people can’t mind their own business.” “What did you say, Mollie?” asked Mrs. Heywood sharply. “I said that the fire hasn’t gone right since the window was broke. Them Suffragettes have a lot to answer for.” “I cannot understand how it _did_ get broken,” said Mrs. Heywood. “I almost suspect that woman, Miss Vernon.” Clare looked up and spoke irritably. “Nonsense, mother!” “It’s no use saying nonsense, Clare,” said Mrs. Heywood, even more irritably. “You know perfectly well that Miss Vernon is a most dangerous woman.” “Well, she didn’t break our window, anyhow,” said Clare, rather doggedly. “How do you know that? It is still a perfect mystery.” “Don’t be absurd, mother. How did the vase get through the window?” Mrs. Heywood was baffled for an answer. “Ah, that is most perplexing.” “Well, leave it at that,” said Clare. Mollie was still wrestling with the mysteries of light and heat. “If it doesn’t burn now,” she said, “I won’t lay another finger on it--At Home or no At Home.” She seized the dustpan and broom and, with a hot face, marched out of the room. Clare pressed her forehead with the tips of her fingers. “I wish to Heaven there were no such things as At Homes,” she said wearily. “Oh, how they bore me!” “You used to like them well enough,” said Mrs. Heywood. “I have grown out of them. I have grown out of so many things. It is as if my life had shrunk in the wash.” “Nothing seems to please you now,” said the old lady. “Don’t you care for your friends any longer?” “Friends? Those tittle-tattling women, with their empty-headed husbands?” Mrs. Heywood was silent for a moment. Then she spoke bitterly. “Do you think Herbert is empty-headed?” “Oh, we won’t get personal, mother,” said Clare. “And we won’t quarrel, if you don’t mind.” Mrs. Heywood’s lips tightened. “I am afraid we shall if you go on like this.” “Like what?” asked Clare. “Hush!” said the old lady. “Here comes Herbert.” Herbert came in quickly, and raised his eyebrows after a glance at his wife. “Good Lord, Clare! Aren’t you dressed yet?” “There’s plenty of time, isn’t there?” said Clare. “No, there isn’t,” said Herbert. “You know some of the guests will arrive before eight o’clock.” Clare looked up at the clock. “It’s only six now.” “Besides,” said Herbert, “I want you to look your best to-night. Edward Hargreaves is coming, with his wife.” “What has that got to do with it?” “Everything,” said Herbert. “He is second cousin to one of my directors. It is essential that you should make a good impression.” “You told me once that he was a complete ass,” said Clare. “So he is.” “Well, then,” said Clare, quietly but firmly, “I decline to make a good impression on him.” “I must ask you to obey my wishes,” said Herbert. Clare had rebellion in her eyes.