For a space Netta Ermsted smoked her cigarette with her eyes fixed upon
space; then very suddenly she spoke again. "I wonder if Ralph Dacre
committed suicide."

Mrs. Ralston started at the abrupt surmise. She looked up for the first
time. "Really, my dear! What an extraordinary thing to say!"

Little Mrs. Ermsted jerked up her chin aggressively. "Why extraordinary,
I wonder? Nothing could be more extraordinary than his death. Either he
jumped over the precipice or she pushed him over when he wasn't looking.
I wonder which."

But at that Mrs. Ralston gravely arose and rebuked her. She never
suffered any nervous qualms when dealing with this volatile friend of
hers. "It is more than foolish," she said with decision; "it is wicked,
to talk like that. I will not sit and listen to you. You have a very
mischievous brain, Netta. You ought to keep it under better control."

Mrs. Ermsted stretched out her dainty feet in front of her and made a
grimace. "When you call me Netta, I always know it is getting serious,"
she remarked. "I withdraw it all, my dear angel, with the utmost
liberality. You shall see how generous I can be to my supplanter. But do
like a good soul finish those tiresome tucks before you begin to be
really cross with me! Poor little Tessa really needs that frock, and
_ayah_ is such a shocking worker. I shan't be able to turn to you for
anything when the estimable Mrs. Dacre is here. In fact I shall be
driven to Mrs. Burton for companionship and counsel, and shall become
more catty than ever."