felt better, but was still sufficiently in what is expressively called a
bad temper to feel an inclination to do disagreeable duties, so she made
up her mind to call and see her husband's ward, and tell her something
she would not like to hear. For Hyacinth she always felt a curious
mixture of chronic anger, family pride, and admiring disapproval, which
combination she had never yet discovered to be a common form of
vague jealousy.

Lady Cannon arrived about three o'clock, pompously dressed in tight
purple velvet and furs. She thought she saw two heads appear at the
studio window and then vanish, but was told that Miss Verney was out.

Prompted by a determination not to be baffled, she said she would get
out and write a note, and was shown to the drawing-room.

Anne, in a peculiarly hideous and unnecessary apron of black alpaca,
came in, bringing a little writing-case.

'Oh! Miss Yeo, as you're there, I needn't write the letter. You can give
Hyacinth a message for me.'

'Certainly, Lady Cannon.'

'How is it that she is out at this extraordinary hour?'

'Is there anything extraordinary about the hour?' asked Anne, looking at
the clock. 'It's three; somehow I always regard three as a particularly
ordinary hour.'

'I differ from you, Miss Yeo.'