"It is only a rock snake," she explained.

"Oh, Bertha!" "Oh, Monica!" gasped the poor exhausted gentlewomen.

"She's hatching out some eggs. That is why we have the fire. Eliza
always does better when she is warm. She is a sweet, gentle creature,
but no doubt she thought that you had designs upon her eggs. I suppose
that you did not touch any of them?"

"Oh, let us get away, Bertha!" cried Monica, with her thin, black-gloved
hands thrown forwards in abhorrence.

"Not away, but into the next room," said Mrs. Westmacott, with the air
of one whose word was law. "This way, if you please! It is less warm
here." She led the way into a very handsomely appointed library, with
three great cases of books, and upon the fourth side a long yellow table
littered over with papers and scientific instruments. "Sit here, and
you, there," she continued. "That is right. Now let me see, which of
you is Miss Williams, and which Miss Bertha Williams?"

"I am Miss Williams," said Monica, still palpitating, and glancing
furtively about in dread of some new horror.

"And you live, as I understand, over at the pretty little cottage. It
is very nice of you to call so early. I don't suppose that we shall get
on, but still the intention is equally good." She crossed her legs and
leaned her back against the marble mantelpiece.

"We thought that perhaps we might be of some assistance," said Bertha,