found somewhere in her wardrobe, turning with a tremor from the others she had been wearing. “I shall never more wear anything again but black,” she said. A little later she was able to think of her mourning and the mourning for the house: both which had to be seen to without delay. Agnes was ready to write the necessary letters, but Lady Frogmore herself joined in the consultation about what would be wanted, and quietly put down Mrs. Hill’s economical suggestions. There were a great many things to think of, and Mary was greatly disturbed to find that a small room which opened from her own was quite open, the sunshine coming in and the outer world visible. “Oh, how is this!” she said; “the blinds are not down nor the shutters closed.”--“They are, over all the house, my lady,” said the maid; “but I thought just this little room, which nobody can see, which is not seen from outside----“--“Oh, close it, close it at once,” said Lady Frogmore. “I can’t bear it--and my dear lord lying dead in the house.” This made her tears flow again; but when the light was shut out she resumed with her mother and sister the consultation about the mourning. She thought of the paper with the deepest black border, and cards to be printed. It seemed to please her to have this occupation, these trifles which had to be attended to--“I suppose,” she said, her voice trembling, her eyes filling--“I must now call myself Dowager on my cards----” “Oh, no, my dear Mary, no--why should you--not for years and years.” “You must not think it will hurt me, mother. Oh, no, no! What do I care for anything but losing _him_. It will not vex me to call John by his name--or Letitia----” She stopped again, her voice failing her. “Oh, Letitia,” she said, “cannot blame me now. She will have nothing, nothing to say against me now.” “Mary, for goodness sake, do not speak to me of that woman. I can’t bear to hear her name in your mouth,” cried Mrs. Hill.