“No, to-night,” said Letitia between her pale lips. She led her way to the boudoir, which indeed was a room sacred not to sulkiness but to many a conflict. It was where she received her housekeeper, her nurse, her husband when he was in the way, the homely dressmaker who helped Mrs. Parke’s maid with her simple dresses, and Miss Hill; these were the privileged persons who knew and had to listen to the eloquent discourses of Letitia--and they had all a sacred horror of the boudoir. She swept into it this evening with Mary following and flung herself into a chair. Her eyes, not generally bright, had little flames in them. She was pale, and panted for breath. After all her long repression it was an unspeakable relief to get to this sanctuary to give vent to herself, to heap wrath upon everybody who was to blame-- “Well, Mary Hill!” she cried with a snort of passion, turning upon her friend. The diamonds on her neck gave forth little quick gleams as they moved with the panting of her wrath as if they simulated the passion which burned in their mistress’ eyes. “Well, Letitia,” said the mild Mary, “I see you are very angry----” “Have I not reason to be angry? Why on earth didn’t you let me know? What motive could you have to keep it a secret? Why, for goodness sake didn’t you tell me? I never will fathom you, Mary Hill! And to think that you should have brought this upon me without a word, without making a sign----” “I implored you to let me speak to you, Letitia. I waited on the stairs for you.” “Implored me! Waited for me: why you should have forced me to hear. Do you think if it had been as important as that I should have been content to wait on the stairs? I’d have let any one know that minded as much as you know I’d mind. If they’d killed me I’d have let them know--and to think I’ve tried to be so kind to--oh, oh Mary Hill. To think you should have stood by and seen it all and never lifted a hand!” “What could I do?” said poor Mary, “I wasn’t even there----” “And why weren’t you there? There are no risks in such a case as that; you should have dressed and come to dinner and made him take you in and kept him quiet. That’s what you would have done if you had been a true friend.” “I couldn’t have taken--such a liberty; when you had settled it all.” “What did it matter about my settling it all. Did I know what was going to happen? And to take the advantage just then of coming when I was out of the way! But I tell you what, Mary Hill. I blame you for more than that. You never should have let him come in at all--you never would had you been a true friend.” “Oh, Letitia, what could I do? Your own brother.”