Phœbe Elles was sitting there, staged, as it were, most effectively on a red draped sofa. She was dressed in white, and her face was as white as her dress, except for the famous spot of colour on each cheek. Her eyes were not as bright as usual; they seemed a little glazed, but she smiled sweetly though faintly when she saw Egidia, and raised her hand, in a deprecating way. “Yes, I have saved you, Phœbe, do you hear?” went on Egidia, full of her subject. “I have completely killed off the Jane Anne Cawthorne you were so afraid of and her evidence, and I venture to predict that your husband will now have nothing better to do than to withdraw his absurd petition in consequence!” “It matters so little now!” said his wife, closing her eyes. Egidia was hurt at this little show of gratitude for the three arduous days’ work she had done for her. “Why, what is the matter with you?” she said, coldly. “Nothing! Everything!” Mrs. Elles flung her arms along the back of the sofa with a despairing gesture, and the lace sleeves of her elaborate tea-gown fell back from them, disclosing a pretty girlish arm. “That is a ridiculously thin gown to wear if you have got a chill, or a touch of influenza, as I suppose you have,” Egidia said testily. “Let me recommend you to go to bed at once, and throw it off.” “Oh, please, Egidia!” came the moan of the wounded pose. “Please! You can’t think how it all sounds--now! You tell me to lie down--I shall lie down soon enough!” “My dear Phœbe, you are rather maddening, are not you?” said the novelist, mildly. “I am sure I do not know what you want to be at, but if you are not ill, and don’t want to lie down, then sit up, and give me some tea! I have been travelling since exactly nine o’clock this morning!” She rang the bell, and ordered tea for herself, while her guest regarded her with lack-lustre eyes, and did not speak, though she held her lips a little helplessly parted. “Cheer up! You look very pretty!” Egidia said to her soothingly, taking off her hat and flinging it on to a chair. “Rather like Frou-Frou in the deathbed scene. Poor little Frou-Frou!” She sat down beside Mrs. Elles on the sofa and took her hands. “Don’t you really want to hear what I have done?” “Yes, dear, I know that you have done something kind, and like you. I want to hear, I do indeed, but I can’t somehow, understand properly--my brain seems clouded....” “Have you been taking things--morphia?” asked Egidia, sternly, as the suspicion crossed her mind. “Morphia--no,” Mrs. Elles answered, with a wan smile. “Surely morphia is no good--it is only temporary in its effects, isn’t it?” “Morphia, only temporary? Do please explain what you mean?” “Dear Egidia,” the other woman said appealingly, “do you mind waiting till Edmund comes? I have sent for him, and then you will know all. He is sure to be here directly.”