green panoply of the forest, where the wild flowers shyly raised sweet
faces to be kissed, and lose herself in the forgetfulness of an eternal
sleep; never to go back again to an Eden contaminated. But when she
lingered the melody of a thrush pierced her through and through. At last
she turned and reluctantly retraced her steps, as one whose hour of
reprieve has expired.

If Mrs. Rindge had a girlish air when fully arrayed for the day, she
looked younger and more angular still in that article of attire known as
a dressing gown. And her eyes, Honora remarked, were peculiarly bright:
glittering, perhaps, would better express the impression they gave; as
though one got a glimpse through them of an inward consuming fire. Her
laughter rang shrill and clear as Honora entered the hall by the rear
door, and the big clock proclaimed that the hour was half-past eleven.
Hugh and Mr. Pembroke were standing at the foot of the stairs, gazing
upward. And Honora, following their glances, beheld the two ladies, in
the negligee referred to above, with their elbows on the railing of the
upper hall and their faces between their hands, engaged in a lively
exchange of compliments with the gentlemen. Mrs. Kame looked sleepy.

"Such a night!" she said, suppressing a yawn. "My dear, you did well to
go to bed."

"And to cap it all," cried Mrs. Rindge, "Georgie fell over backwards in
one of those beautiful Adam chairs, and there's literally nothing left of
it. If an ocean steamer had hit it, or a freight tram, it couldn't have
been more thoroughly demolished."

"You pushed me," declared Mr. Pembroke.