was of a deeper shade of auburn. Her costume was of a kind that may be described as the floppily artistic.
"I never heard you come in, my dear," said her mother. "Did you enjoy your lecture?"
"Quite; I took pages and pages of notes. Nietzsche's Gospel of the Superman is certainly most striking."
"And what is his Gospel exactly?"
"Oh, well, he teaches that the ideal man ought to rise superior to conventional prejudices, and have the courage to do as he thinks right without deferring to ordinary ideas. To be strong in willing what he wants – all that sort of thing, you know."
"Dear me!" said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson dubiously. "But, if everybody acted like that, would it be quite – er – nice?"
"There's no fear of any of the men in Gablehurst being Supermen, at all events!" said Edna. "They're all perfect slaves to convention! But the lecturer explained the Nietzschean theories in such a way that he made us feel there was a great deal to be said for them… No tea, thanks. I had mine at the Fletchers. It looks," she added, with a glance at the tea-cups, "as if you had been entertaining some one, Mother – who was it?"
"Only Lady Harriet," replied Mrs. Stimpson, with elaborate carelessness.
"What Lady Harriet?" was the intentionally provoking query.
"Really, Edna, one would think there were dozens of them! The Lady Harriet: Lady Harriet Elmslie, of course."
"Oh," said Edna. "And what did she want?"
"Well, she came to ask after Saunders' character, but she stayed to tea, and we really struck up quite an intimate friendship, discussing one thing and another. She's so quiet and unassuming, Edna – absolutely no hauteur. I'm sure you will like her. I told her about you all, and she seemed so interested. Quite between ourselves, I shouldn't be at all surprised if she got us invited to take part in the Pageant – she's on the Committee, you know."
"If I was invited, Mother, I'm not at all sure I shouldn't refuse."
"You must please yourself about that, my dear," said Mrs. Stimpson, who, perhaps, felt but little anxiety as to the result. "I shall certainly accept if the part is at all suitable."
She might have said more, if Ruby had not suddenly burst into the room. Ruby was certainly the flower of the family – an extremely engaging young person of about ten, whose mischievous golden-brown eyes had long and curling lashes, and whose vivacious face was set off by a thick mane of deepest Titian red.
"Oh, Mummy," she announced breathlessly, "I've got invitations for nearly all my animals while we're away at Eastbourne! Mucius Scævola's the most popular – everybody asked him, but I think he'll feel most at home with Daisy Williams. Vivian and Ada Porter will simply love to have Numa Pompilius, but nobody seems to want Tarquinius Superbus, so I shall turn him out in the garden, and he must catch worms for himself."
"Dearest child," said her mother, "what are these new animals of yours with the extraordinary names?"
"They're the same old animals, Mums. I've rechristened them since I began Roman History with Miss Heritage. Mucius Scævola's the Salamander, because they're indifferent to fire, like he was – though Miss Heritage says it wouldn't be kind to try with Mucius. Numa Pompilius is the Blind-worm – he used to be Kaa – and the Toad has changed from Nobbles to Tarquinius Superbus."
"I can't understand how you can keep such unpleasant pets as reptiles," said Edna.
"Because I like them," said Ruby simply. "And Bobby Williams has promised, as soon as it gets warmer, to come out on the Common with me and catch lizards. Won't it be lovely?"
"I hope you won't put one of them down anybody's neck, then, as you did to Tommy Fletcher."
"That was Mucius," Ruby admitted cheerfully. "But I didn't mean him to go so far down. And he was very good – he didn't bite Tommy anywhere."
"Little ladies don't play such tricks," said her Mother. "I hope Miss Heritage doesn't encourage your liking for these horrid creatures?"
"Oh, she doesn't mind, so long as I don't take them out of the aquarium, but she hates touching them herself."
"Did she come in with you?" her mother inquired, and was told that Miss Heritage had done so, and had gone upstairs, whereupon Ruby was ordered to go and take off her things, and stay quietly in the schoolroom till it was time to come down.
"I don't know if you noticed it, Mother," Edna began, as soon as Ruby had consented to leave them, "but Miss Heritage had a letter by the afternoon post which seemed to upset her. I went rather out of my way to ask her if she had had bad news of any kind, but she did not think proper to take me into her confidence. Perhaps she might be more open with you."
"My dear," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, with much dignity, "I take no interest whatever in Miss Heritage's private correspondence."
"Nor I," declared Edna. "I only thought that if she is in any trouble – She's so secretive, you know, Mums. I've tried more than once to get her to tell me what cosmetic she uses for her hands – and she never will own to using any at all!"
"I'm sure, Edna, you've no reason to be ashamed of your hands."
"Oh, they look all right just now," said Edna, examining them dispassionately. "But they will turn lobster colour at the most inconvenient times. Hers never do – and it does seem so unfair, considering – " She broke off here, as Daphne Heritage entered.
"Well, Miss Heritage?" said Mrs. Stimpson, as the girl hesitated on seeing Edna. "Did you wish to speak to me?"
"I did rather want your advice about something," said Daphne, who had a paper, and a small leather case in her hands; "I thought I might find you alone. It doesn't matter – it will do quite well another time."
"Don't let me prevent you, Miss Heritage," said Edna. "If you don't wish to speak to Mother before me, I've no desire to remain. I was just going up to change in any case."
She went out with a slightly huffy air, which was not entirely due to baffled curiosity, for she admired Daphne enough to resent being quietly kept at a distance.
"It's about this," explained Daphne, after Edna had made her exit – "a bill that has just been sent on to me." She gave the paper to Mrs. Stimpson as she spoke. "I don't know quite what to do about it."
She looked very young and inexperienced as she stood there, a slim girlish figure with masses of burnished hair the colour of ripe corn, braided and coiled as closely as possible round her small head, but there was no trace of timidity or subservience in her manner. In the slight form, with the milk-white skin, delicate profile and exquisite hands, there was a distinction that struck her employer as quite absurdly out of keeping with her position.
"The only thing to do about a bill, my dear," said Mrs. Stimpson, "is to pay it. But nearly thirty pounds is a large sum for you to owe your milliner."
"It's for things Mother – my adopted mother, you know – ordered for me. Stéphanie was always told to send in the account to her. But this seems to have been overlooked, and the executors have sent it on to me. Only I can't pay it myself – unless you wouldn't mind advancing me the money out of my salary."
"I couldn't possibly. You forget that it would represent over a year's salary, and it's by no means certain that you will be with me so long."
"I was afraid you wouldn't," said Daphne, with a little droop at the corners of her extremely pretty mouth. "So I brought this to show you." She held out the leather case. "It's the only jewellery I've got. It belonged to my father, I believe; he and my real mother both died when I was a baby, you know – and I never meant to part with it. But now I'm afraid I must – that is, if you think any jeweller would give as much as thirty pounds for it."
Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson opened the case, which was much more modern than the kind of badge or pendant it contained. This was a fairly large oval stone of a milky green, deeply engraved with strangely formed letters interlaced in a cypher, and surrounded by a border of dark blue gems which Mrs. Stimpson decided instantly must be Cabochon star