Mrs. Heth slept on in her deep-bosomed chair, undisturbed by the click of switch or burst of light into her enveloping dusk.  She had a magazine, face downward, in her lap; also a one-pound box of mixed chocolates, open.  Her head had fallen upon her chair-back; a position which brought the strange dark little mustache into prominence, and also threw into relief the unexpected heaviness of the jaw and neck.  The face of an indomitable creature, certainly, of one of those fittest to survive; but not exactly a spiritual face, perhaps, hardly a face finely sensitive to immaterial values....

To gaze at a person who is unaware of being watched may be worse than eavesdropping.  Arrested in the act of waking her mother, Carlisle stood for some moments looking down at her.  What was there lacking in mamma that you couldn’t ever talk things over with her?  Upon the unconscious face it was plainly inscribed that this lady would stand against telling to the last ditch.  Somehow the knowledge brought the daughter no comfort....

And now that she stopped to consider in calm security, what, really, if she did send Vivian a little note just before she sailed, authorizing him to tell?  What had she, of all people, to fear from the clacking tattle of a few old cats?  Suppose, to-morrow, she calmly said to Hugo and mamma, “I’ve felt all along that I did him an injustice, and now that I know he’s so unhappy, I want to set it straight.”  What, really, could they say that would be so bad?  If there was a price for telling, it appeared now that there was a price also for not telling.

Minutes passed ...

And then at the shake, Mrs. Heth stirred, turned, rolled a little, and opened her eyes with a start and a blink.

“I must have dropped asleep,” said she.

“No!” said Cally; and she gave a sudden gay burst of laughter.

“I don’t see anything so funny in that,” said Mrs. Heth, yawning and sitting up.  “What time is it?”

“I think it’s a perfect scream, and it’s nearly seven, and Hugo will be here at quarter past, punctually. Now will you fly?”

“You might have waked me a little earlier.  Good gracious!...  How long have you been in?  Anything happen while I napped?”

“Not a single, solitary, blessed thing....  There you are!—­Easy does it!”

“I’ll be dressed long before you are now,” was the maternal retort, accompanied by a long stretch.

And, though unchallenged, she was as good as her word.  Highly efficient at the toilet as elsewhere, she required small assistance from Flora, whom she dispatched to tidy up the sitting-room instead.  The good little lady was armed cap-a-pie by seven-fifteen, at which time a glance into Carlisle’s room revealed much backwardness there, not concealed by the appearances of haste.  Hugo would have to wait, that was clear; and just as it was clear, up Mr. Canning’s name came skipping from the office.