The blushing Eliza was adorned with a fine coat which had come in the milliner's box. Mary had laughingly insisted on her mother appearing in it, in spite of Eliza's firm conviction that "it was much too grand."
"My word, mother!" roared Joe, at the sight of her splendor. "I'm thinking I'll have to keep an eye on you."
The visitor was promptly introduced, first to the wearer of the coat, who offered a shy and embarrassed hand, and then to Aunt Harriet, who stood mute and pale in the background.
"Why—why, Mrs. Sanderson," said the young man, "fancy meeting you here!"
"You have met before?" said Mary, innocently.
"We meet very often."
"Really?"
"Why, yes. Mrs. Sanderson is Uncle Albert's right hand at Bridport House."
A pin might have been heard to fall in the silence that followed. The blood fled from Mary's cheeks; they grew as pale as those of her aunt. Even the knowledge that had recently come to her had not connected Jack with Bridport House. No attempt had been made to realize exactly who and what he was. It had been enough that he belonged to a world beyond her own. And now as this new and astonishing fact presented itself she saw the strongest possible justification for the attitude she had taken up.
As for Harriet, stern and unbending in the background, she was like an Antigone who abides the decree. Her fears were realized. The worst had happened. Fate
