As she looked at Mrs. Tregelly's picture, the feverish chills of suspicion again took possession of her. She told herself repeatedly that she had only been married a year, that Chetwode was in love with her, and had always seemed cold to other women. But he was continually away. He was charming and attractive. Perhaps the other women he met thought _she_ lived for amusement and was utterly neglectful of him. She was afraid she had been imprudent in being seen so much with Wilton, but Chetwode never seemed, really, to mind. He trusted her as she deserved, and as she ought to trust him. Considering the terms that they were on--far more like lovers than husband and wife--it would be real treachery on his part. He was incapable of treachery. She would trust him. Then the image of Chetwode making love to that pretty woman abruptly forced itself on her mental vision in spite of all reasoning, like a sudden violent physical pain, and she burst into tears. * * * * * She controlled them as soon as possible, for she strongly dissented from the old-fashioned idea that a good cry was consoling. On the contrary, she thought that the headache and unbecoming traces of emotion that followed tears had a particularly depressing effect, and left one with nerves. She resolved to dismiss the subject for the moment, anyhow, and to go to Vera's in the afternoon to meet Madame Zero and two or three of Vera's most favoured and intimate friends. CHAPTER XX ZERO, THE SOOTHSAYER Mrs. Ogilvie looked more Egyptian than ever to-day. She always dressed for her parts; and as a believer in the Unseen, she felt it right, in honour of the sibyl, to wear her hair very low, with some green pins in it, long earrings, and a flowing gown, with Japanese sleeves. "Vera, you're almost in fancy dress," said Felicity, as she arrived. "It's very becoming; but why?" "Am I, dear? Well, it's as a sort of compliment to this wonderful girl. I've been draping the little boudoir with gold embroideries--and burning joss-sticks, too (though they give me a headache). I thought it would bring out her gift--make her feel more at home, you know." "Good gracious, is she an Algerian or an Indian or anything?" "Oh dear no, darling. Of course not. She's a Highlander, that's all. It runs in her family. To know things that haven't happened, I mean." "But that _will_ happen?" "I hope so, I'm sure. She's in there," said Vera, pointing to a beaded curtain, that concealed the small drawing-room. "She's gazing into the crystal for Bob Henderson. You shall go next, darling." "I should have imagined Captain Henderson the very last person in the world to dabble in the occult, as they call it in the newspapers. I should have thought he would laugh at superstition." "Oh, so he does, dear, but he wants to know what's going to win the Derby." "From all I've heard about racing," said Felicity, "if he wants to know that, he'd better wait till it's run."