Then it occurred to her that Mrs. Snow knew her mother. Mrs. Snow--then Miss Duncan--had been at Convent Grange when Colonel Hall was murdered. She must have known that the so-called Mrs. Hedge was really Mrs. Hall, and must have known also the reason why Mrs. Hall under a feigned name had married Jarvis Alpenny. Mrs. Snow declared herself to be a dear friend of Mrs. Hall. Why, then, did she hate Beatrice, who was the daughter of that same dear friend? That Mrs. Snow hated her Beatrice was convinced, as she had pointedly neglected her throughout five and twenty years. Yes Mrs. Snow would be the best person to question; and having made up her mind rapidly, the girl took her way to the Vicarage of Hurstable. Mrs. Snow, looking more sour and elderly than ever, was in the garden, engaged in the Arcadian pastime of gathering roses for decorative purposes. She was a good housekeeper, and liked to see a dainty dinner-table. Notwithstanding her disagreeable nature, she made the vicar and his son comfortable enough, and really loved them both in her sour way. Jerry, indeed, was the apple of her eye, and it was for this reason that she resented his engagement to Dinah Paslow. With any other girl it would have been the same. It was not the individual maiden that Mrs. Snow hated, but the girl who took her son to be a husband. For the sake of her own selfishness, which she miscalled maternal love, she would have liked Jerry to remain a bachelor all his life, just to please her, and bestow all his affection on his dear mother. But the young man himself had not found that affection, although it really existed, strong enough to fill his life. Therefore he had asked Dinah to marry him, and so strongly had he held his own on the subject, that Mrs. Snow had been won over so far as to receive Dinah as a future daughter-in-law. "Mrs. Snow," said Beatrice, when she entered the pretty grounds of the Vicarage, "I wish to speak to you particularly." The vicar's wife looked sourly at her visitor. She hated Beatrice because of her beauty, amongst other things; and when she saw that same beauty was somewhat worn and haggard, that the girl looked ill and had lost her vivacity, she felt pleased. "Quite washed out," said Mrs. Snow to herself, and thus became more amiable. Laying down the scissors, with which she had been clipping the flowers, she advanced with what was meant to be an ingratiating smile. "My dear Miss Hedge, I am so pleased to see you. This is the first time that you have called. Come inside, please." "Thank you. I prefer to remain in the garden and take up as little of your time as possible." Mrs. Snow stiffened. "What an extraordinary tone to take with me," she said, with the offended air of a thorough egotist. "Can you wonder at it? We know so little of one another." "That is, as it may be," snapped Mrs. Snow, wondering what her visitor had come to see her about. "I may know more of you than you think."