She looked very stern and terrible. She was standing upright before a tall glass, attired in the full panoply requisite for a visit to town—perfectly upright, and perfectly self-possessed. One article only of her attire was wanting, and that was her bonnet, which lay on a chair hard by, while over her straight grey hair was visible a little black silk cap, such as elderly ladies wear, or did wear, beneath their bonnets—and which cap, when not yet covered by the superior headdress, imparts a look of hardness to the gentlest countenance. Its effect upon the severe features of Miss Shuttleworth gave an additional terror to her glance, and additional sternness to her eye. A slight young woman held in her hand a bonnet, which she was apparently about to place upon Miss Shuttleworth’s head, when that lady, with a wave of the hand, stopped her, and replied to Nita’s astonished exclamation: ‘Yes, it is Aunt Margaret. What of that?’ ‘Nothing, aunt dear. But I was so astonished to see you. I thought you had got a bonnet.’ ‘So I had, but it does not suit me. Put it on now,’ to the young woman, who trembled visibly, but who obeyed at once. It was undoubtedly _the_ bonnet, and it sat upon Miss Shuttleworth’s head like a plume upon a hearse. No other comparison is for a moment admissible. Slowly, and with dignity, she turned her head this way and that; and before formulating her objections, condescended to greet Wellfield. ‘Good-afternoon, Mr. Wellfield. Have you come to help my niece to choose a bonnet?’ ‘Yes,’ said Jerome, composedly. ‘I am sure you look as if you would give her valuable assistance in such a matter,’ was the reply, ambiguous in its nature. Was it to be considered complimentary, or otherwise? Jerome, with a gravity as imperturbable as her own, said he should feel highly honoured if he could be of any use to Miss Shuttleworth in the same matter. She turned away with a jerk. Having always had a monopoly in the sphere of disagreeable, if dubious remarks, she did not appreciate this intrusion on a province peculiarly her own. ‘Nita,’ she said, sharply, ‘don’t you see what is wrong with this bonnet? It’s like a plume on a hearse.’ ‘It suits you admirably, Miss Shuttleworth,’ said Jerome, blandly. ‘You must alter the feathers,’ said Miss Shuttleworth to the young woman; ‘you must make them lie flatter. You understand what I mean. Otherwise I shall never enter your shop again. Now, Nita,’ as she removed the bonnet, and reached her hand for her old one, ‘what do _you_ want? Let us see whether, with Mr. Wellfield’s assistance, we cannot find something suitable. Poor John never could have helped anyone to choose a bonnet,’ she added, pointedly.