Though it was midsummer Hetta entered the room with her veil down.  She adjusted it as she followed Ruby up the stairs, moved by a sudden fear of her rival’s scrutiny.  Mrs Hurtle rose from her chair and came forward to greet her visitor, putting out both her hands to do so.  She was dressed with the most scrupulous care,—­simply, and in black, without an ornament of any kind, without a ribbon or a chain or a flower.  But with some woman’s purpose at her heart she had so attired herself as to look her very best.  Was it that she thought that she would vindicate to her rival their joint lover’s first choice, or that she was minded to teach the English girl that an American woman might have graces of her own...