Laura began to feel a certain resentment. The unfortunate Gretry girl had gone away in tears. What with the embarrassment of the wrong gown, the brow-beating, and the nose-bleed, she was not far from hysterics. She had retired to the dining-room with Mrs. Cressler and from time to time the sounds of her distress made themselves heard. Laura believed it quite time to interfere. After all, who was this Gerardy person, to give himself such airs? Poor Miss Gretry was to blame for nothing. She fixed the little Frenchman with a direct glance, and Page, who caught a glimpse of her face, recognised "the grand manner," and whispered to Landry: "He'd better look out; he's gone just about as far as Laura will allow." "It is not convenient," vociferated the "coach." "It is not permissible. I am offended." "Monsieur Gerardy," said Laura, "we will say nothing more about it, if you please." There was a silence. Monsieur Gerardy had pretended not to hear. He breathed loud through his nose, and Page hastened to observe that anyhow Marion was not on in the next scenes. Then abruptly, and resuming his normal expression, Monsieur Gerardy said: "Let us proceed. It advances nothing to lose time. Come. Lady Mary and Arthur, ready." The rehearsal continued. Laura, who did not come on during the act, went back to her chair in the corner of the room. But the original group had been broken up. Mrs. Cressler was in the dining-room with the Gretry girl, while Jadwin, Aunt Wess', and Cressler himself were deep in a discussion of mind-reading and spiritualism. As Laura came up, Jadwin detached himself from the others and met her. "Poor Miss Gretry!" he observed. "Always the square peg in the round hole. I've sent out for some smelling salts." It seemed to Laura that the capitalist was especially well-looking on this particular evening. He never dressed with the "smartness" of Sheldon Corthell or Landry Court, but in some way she did not expect that he should. His clothes were not what she was aware were called "stylish," but she had had enough experience with her own tailor-made gowns to know that the material was the very best that money could buy. The apparent absence of any padding in the broad shoulders of the frock coat he wore, to her mind, more than compensated for the "ready-made" scarf, and if the white waistcoat was not fashionably cut, she knew that _she_ had never been able to afford a pique skirt of just that particular grade. "Suppose we go into the reception-room," he observed abruptly. "Charlie bought a new clock last week that's a marvel. You ought to see it." "No," she answered. "I am quite comfortable here, and I want to see how Page does in this act." "I am afraid, Miss Dearborn," he continued, as they found their places, "that you did not have a very good time Sunday afternoon." He referred to the Easter festival at his mission school. Laura had left rather early, alleging neuralgia and a dinner engagement.