Even Mrs. Linley’s good nature declined to submit to this.  “I shall certainly not think over what cannot possibly happen,” she said.  “Good-night, mamma.”

“Good-night, Catherine.  Your temper doesn’t seem to improve as you get older.  Perhaps the excitement of the party has been too much for your nerves.  Try to get some sleep before Herbert comes up from the smoking-room and disturbs you.”

Mrs. Linley refused even to let this pass unanswered.  “Herbert is too considerate to disturb me, when his friends keep him up late,” she said.  “On those occasions, as you may see for yourself, he has a bed in his dressing-room.”

Mrs. Presty passed through the dressing-room on her way out.  “A very comfortable-looking bed,” she remarked, in a tone intended to reach her daughter’s ears.  “I wonder Herbert ever leaves it.”

The way to her own bed-chamber led her by the door of Sydney’s room.  She suddenly stopped; the door was not shut.  This was in itself a suspicious circumstance.

Young or old, ladies are not in the habit of sleeping with their bedroom doors ajar.  A strict sense of duty led Mrs. Presty to listen outside.  No sound like the breathing of a person asleep was to be heard.  A strict sense of duty conducted Mrs. Presty next into the room, and even encouraged her to approach the bed on tip-toe.  The bed was empty; the clothes had not been disturbed since it had been made in the morning!

The old lady stepped out into the corridor in a state of excitement, which greatly improved her personal appearance.  She looked almost young again as she mentally reviewed the list of vices and crimes which a governess might commit, who had retired before eleven o’clock, and was not in her bedroom at twelve.  On further reflection, it appeared to be barely possible that Miss Westerfield might be preparing her pupil’s exercises for the next day.  Mrs. Presty descended to the schoolroom on the first floor.

No.  Here again there was nothing to see but an empty room.

Where was Miss Westerfield?

Was it within the limits of probability that she had been bold enough to join the party in the smoking-room?  The bare idea was absurd.

In another minute, nevertheless, Mrs. Presty was at the door, listening.  The men’s voices were loud:  they were talking politics.  She peeped through the keyhole; the smokers had, beyond all doubt, been left to themselves.  If the house had not been full of guests, Mrs. Presty would now have raised an alarm.  As things were, the fear of a possible scandal which the family might have reason to regret forced her to act with caution.  In the suggestive retirement of her own room, she arrived at a wise and wary decision.  Opening her door by a few inches, she placed a chair behind the opening in a position which commanded a view of Sydney’s room.  Wherever the governess might be, her return to her bed-chamber, before the servants were astir in the