It was a long, lonely day, passed in a dreary attempt to hasten the lagging hours with one of Susan's "shilling shockers," which that worthy damsel had pressed upon her adored young lady's attention as being "perfec'ly el'gant an' that thrillin' it ud raise yer 'air to read it." Jane found "The Duke's Revenge, or the Secret of the Hidden Staircase" insufficient to keep her wandering attention from the water stain on the ceiling, which by this time had assumed the appearance of a coach and pair careering at full gallop on the verge of a precipice. She passed the morning in momently dreading a summons from Lady Agatha, but none came, and after luncheon (which Jane decided to omit) peeping from her lofty window she caught a glimpse of that stately matron and her daughter magnificently attired sailing forth to their carriage. Later in the day she beheld the Hon. Wipplinger Towle, immaculately groomed and wearing a gardenia in his buttonhole, advancing up the street. Ten minutes later Susan tapped at the door, the proud bearer of a slim white card on a diminutive salver. "I told Jeems as 'ow I thought I'd find you 'ere, miss," she said. "You may say that I'm not at home, if you please, Susan," said Jane. But Susan stood still in her tracks. "'Is 'air ain't much to brag of, I know, miss," she ventured at length; "an' 'e can't be called 'an'some in other pertic'lers, but I ain't sure as I wouldn't tak' up wi' 'im, seein' there ain't no lord nor dook 'andy. 'E's a gent'man, that 'e is; 'an you'd be a-ridin' in a kerridge o' yer own wi' nobody to worrit you, an' _me_ lidy's maid a-waitin' on you constant, instead of occasional like, as I'm forced now along wi' my reg'lar dooties." Jane laughed outright. "You're a good soul, Susan," she said; "but your advice isn't exactly to my taste. Go down at once and do as I've told you. Later I've something to say to you; and I shall want your help, too." By this Susan's eyes had lighted upon Jane's modest box, which stood locked and strapped for its long journey at the foot of Jane's little bed. "Oh, Miss Jane Evelyn," she blubbered, "you ain't a-goin' away!" "I must," said Jane. "I can't stay here any longer. I'll tell you about it when you come up again. You must go down directly now and tell James to excuse me to Mr. Towle." But James was engaged in parleying with another visitor when Susan arrived at the level of the reception room, and after an instant's reflection she smoothed down her immaculate apron, touched up the frills of her cap, and boldly presented herself before the Hon. Wipplinger Towle, who was waiting with his wonted middle-aged patience. "Miss Jane Evelyn's be'n took bad wi' a wi'lent 'eadache, sir, an' will you kindly excuse 'er, sir." And Susan bobbed her very best courtesy. Mr. Towle stood up and fixed his glass in his eye. "Hum--ah! I am very sorry to hear it. You will--er--tell Miss Aubrey-Blythe so, with my compliments, my good girl."