Then she looked at it more closely, pounced on it, turned it upside down and shook it. A card fell out, which Dallas picked up and gave her with a bow. Jim had come out of the den and was dancing wildly around and beckoning to me. By the time I had made out that that was NOT the vase Cousin Jane had sent us as a wedding present, Aunt Selina had examined the card. Then she glared across at me and, stooping, put the card in the fire. I did not understand at all, but I knew I had in some way done the unforgivable thing. Later, Dal told me it was HER card, and that she had sent the vase to Jim at Christmas, with a generous check inside. When she straightened from the fireplace, it was to a new theme, which she attacked with her usual vigor. The vase incident was over, but she never forgot it. She proved that she never did when she sent me two urn-shaped vases with Paul and Virginia on them, when I--that is, later on. “The Cause in England has made great strides,” she announced from the fireplace. “Soon the hand that rocks the cradle will be the hand that actually rules the world.” Here she looked at me. “I’m not up on such things,” Max said blandly, having recovered some of his good humor, “but--isn’t it usually a foot that rocks the cradle?” Aunt Selina turned on him and Mr. Harbison, who were standing together, with a snort. “What have you, or YOU, ever done for the independence of woman?” she demanded. Mr. Harbison smiled. He had been looking rather grave until then. “We have at least remained unmarried,” he retorted. And then dinner was again announced. He was to take me out, and he came across the room to where I sat collapsed in a chair, and bent over me. “Do you know,” he said, looking down at me with his clear, disconcerting gaze, “do you know that I have just grasped the situation? There was such a noise that I did not hear your name, and I am only realizing now that you are my hostess! I don’t know why I got the impression that this was a bachelor establishment, but I did. Odd, wasn’t it?” I positively couldn’t look away from him. My features seemed frozen, and my eyes were glued to his. As for telling him the truth--well, my tongue refused to move. I intended to tell him during dinner if I had an opportunity; I honestly did. But the more I looked at him and saw how candid his eyes were, and how stern his mouth might be, the more I shivered at the plunge. And, of course, as everybody knows now, I didn’t tell him at all. And every moment I expected that awful old woman to ask me what I paid my cook, and when I had changed the color of my hair--Bella’s being black.