PART II

CHAPTER I

THE MINISTERING ANGEL


"And what am I going to do?" demanded Mrs. Ermsted fretfully. She was
lounging in the easiest chair in Mrs. Ralston's drawing-room with a
cigarette between her fingers. A very decided frown was drawing her
delicate brows. "I had no idea you could be so fickle," she said.

"My dear, I shall welcome you here just as heartily as I ever have,"
Mrs. Ralston assured her, without lifting her eyes from the muslin frock
at which she was busily stitching.

Mrs. Ermsted pouted. "That may be. But I shan't come very often when she
is here. I don't like widows. They are either so melancholy that they
give you the hump or so self-important that you want to slap them. I
never did fancy this girl, as you know. Much too haughty and superior."

"You never knew her, dear," said Mrs. Ralston.

Mrs. Ermsted's laugh had a touch of venom. "As I have tried more than
once to make you realize," she said, "there are at least two points of
view to everybody. You, dear Mrs. Ralston, always wear rose-coloured
spectacles, with the unfortunate result that your opinion is so
unvaryingly favourable that nobody values it."

Mrs. Ralston's faded face flushed faintly. She worked on in silence.