“Yes, ‘legitimate’ is rather refreshing, isn’t it?” said Myra. “But the dresses are a bother. I have to devise something new for Portia in the casket scene, for the old one was ruined the last time I wore it. There were six of us dressing in one room, and there was hardly space to turn round; the train is all over grease-paint. The men are lucky in having their costumes provided by the management. Well, good bye, dear, take care of yourself. And be sure to let me know if there is anything I can do for you.” Evereld thanked her rather faintly and was not sorry to find herself alone once more. She felt giddy as she tried to recall exactly what Myra had said and hinted. Could it possibly be true? And if so what was she to do? That there was a vein of silliness in Ivy she had long ago discovered; now and then she said things which jarred a little on her, but the more she had seen of her the more she had learnt to like her, and her perfectly open and rational friendship for Ralph had always seemed to her most natural. Was it true that all the time Ivy had been acting? Myra’s arguments returned to her with a force which she vainly tried to struggle against. Had she been able to go out in the sunshine for a brisk walk probably she would have taken a more quiet view of the state of affairs, but she was not well enough for that, and the more she brooded over it all the more miserable she became. Just when her visions were at the darkest the bell rang and the little servant ushered in Ivy herself. “What luck to find you alone,” said the girl brightly, “I was afraid Mr. Macneillie would perhaps be in. I’m in the worst of tempers, for on this perfect day there wasn’t a lady’s bicycle to be had, and there are those two lucky men enjoying themselves while I am left in this smoky town.” “I was sorry to hear you had been disappointed,” said Evereld, going on with her work. But somehow as she said the words she knew that she was not so sorry as she had at first been. Things had changed since Myra’s visit. She even fancied a difference in Ivy. Was there something more than cleverness in that winsome face? Was there a certain craftiness in those ever-changing eyes? She began to think there was, and being a bad hand at concealing her thoughts, her manner became constrained and she was extremely unresponsive to the flood of bright talk which Ivy poured out. “Something is worrying you,” said the girl at last growing conscious of the curious difference in her friend’s manner. “‘Don’t worry! Try Sunlight!’ as the soap advertisement tells you. Come out with me for a turn before dinner. Walking is the sovereign remedy for all ills. We used to try it in Scotland when we were half starving.” Evereld hated herself for it, but she was so overwrought and miserable that even the use of that word “we” grated upon her. She declined the invitation, and her manner grew more and more cold and repellent. Ivy was puzzled and hurt.