As Rebecca spoke she started violently, and lost sight of her
resentment, for something singular happened. Suddenly the rose-
bush was agitated violently as if by a gust of wind, yet it was a
remarkably still day. Not a leaf of the hydrangea standing on the
terrace close to the rose trembled.

"What on earth--" began Rebecca, then she stopped with a gasp at
the sight of the other woman's face. Although a face, it gave
somehow the impression of a desperately clutched hand of secrecy.

"Come in!" said she in a harsh voice, which seemed to come forth
from her chest with no intervention of the organs of speech. "Come
into the house. I'm getting cold out here."

"What makes that rose-bush blow so when their isn't any wind?"
asked Rebecca, trembling with vague horror, yet resolute.

"I don't see as it is blowing," returned the woman calmly. And as
she spoke, indeed, the bush was quiet.

"It was blowing," declared Rebecca.

"It isn't now," said Mrs. Dent. "I can't try to account for
everything that blows out-of-doors. I have too much to do."

She spoke scornfully and confidently, with defiant, unflinching
eyes, first on the bush, then on Rebecca, and led the way into the
house.