supper-room with her, and as little appetite as Rosa had manifested.
The meal was quickly over, and by way of obeying the second part of
Mabel's behest, the innocent diplomatist begged Rosa to go to the
piano.

"I always enjoy your delightful music, my dear. It makes the house
more lively."

"Thank you, dear Mrs. Sutton. I should take pleasure in obliging
you; but if Mabel is out of sorts, I don't believe she will care to
have the house lively to-night," was the amiable rejoinder.
"Moreover, I am dying to finish 'David Copperfield.' Will you allow
me to curl myself up in the big chair here, and read for an hour?"

Mrs. Sutton gave a consent that was almost glad in its alacrity, and
pretended to occupy herself with the newspapers brought by the
evening mail, until she judged that Mabel had had season in which to
compose her thoughts. Then she muttered something about "breakfast,"
"muffins," and "Daphne," caught up her key-basket, and bustled out.

Rosa's book fell from before her face at the sound of the closing
door. The liquid eyes were turbid; her features moved by some
passion mightier far than curiosity or compassion for her friend's
distress.

"I have done nothing--literally nothing, to bring this on!" was the
reflection which brought most calm to her agitated mind. "If it
should be as I think, I am guiltless of treachery. My skirts are
clear. My hands are clean! Yet there have been moments when I could
have dipped them in blood that this end might be attained!"