cups of tea. It was when the meal had come to an end that Kathleen said
calmly:

"Three or four, or perhaps five, ladies called while Maria was out."

"Who were they, dear?"

"I don't know. They left messages, and I have forgotten them. One lady
was dressed in what I should call a very loud style. She was quite old.
Her face was all over wrinkles. She was stout, and she wore a short
jacket and a big--very big--picture-hat."

"You don't mean," said Mrs. Tennant, "that Mrs. Dalzell has called? She
is one of my most important friends. She promised to help me with regard
to David's future. What did she say--can't you remember?"

"I am ever so sorry, but I can't. I kept staring at her hat all the
time. I don't remember anything about her except that she was old and
had wrinkles and a big picture-hat--the sort of hat that Ruth Craven
would look pretty in."

Mrs. Tennant began to find the remembrance of her delightful tea a
little depressing, for, question Kathleen as she might, she did not
remember anything about the ladies except a few fugitive descriptions.
As far as Mrs. Tennant could make out, people who were of the greatest
importance to her had left messages, and yet none of the messages could
be attended to.

"I can't even imagine who the other ladies can be," she said. "But as to
Mrs. Dalzell, she must not be neglected; I must go out and see her at