Mrs. Presty’s sense of her own importance refused to submit to being passed over in this way.

“However insolently you may behave, Catherine, you will not succeed in provoking me.  Your mother is bound to open your eyes to the truth.  You have a rival in your husband’s affections; and that rival is your governess.  Take your own course now; I have no more to say.”  With her head high in the air—­looking the picture of conscious virtue—­the old lady walked out.

At the same moment Randal seized his first opportunity of speaking.

He addressed himself gently and respectfully to his sister-in-law.  She refused to hear him.  The indignation which Mrs. Presty had roused in her made no allowances, and was blind to all sense of right.

“Don’t trouble yourself to account for your silence,” she said, most unjustly.  “You were listening to my mother without a word of remonstrance when I came into the room.  You are concerned in this vile slander, too.”

Randal considerately refrained from provoking her by attempting to defend himself, while she was incapable of understanding him.  “You will be sorry when you find that you have misjudged me,” he said, and sighed, and left her.

She dropped into a chair.  If there was any one distinct thought in her at that moment, it was the thought of her husband.  She was eager to see him; she longed to say to him:  “My love, I don’t believe a word of it!” He was not in the garden when she had returned for the parasol; and Sydney was not in the garden.  Wondering what had become of her father and her governess, Kitty had asked the nursemaid to look for them.  What had happened since?  Where had they been found?  After some hesitation, Mrs. Linley sent for the nursemaid.  She felt the strongest reluctance, when the girl appeared, to approach the very inquiries which she was interested in making.

“Have you found Mr. Linley?” she said—­with an effort.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Where did you find him?”

“In the shrubbery.”

“Did your master say anything?”

“I slipped away, ma’am, before he saw me.”

“Why?”

“Miss Westerfield was in the shrubbery, with my master.  I might have been mistaken—­” The girl paused, and looked confused.

Mrs. Linley tried to tell her to go on.  The words were in her mind; but the capacity of giving expression to them failed her.  She impatiently made a sign.  The sign was understood.

“I might have been mistaken,” the maid repeated—­“but I thought Miss Westerfield was crying.”

Having replied in those terms, she seemed to be anxious to get away.  The parasol caught her eye.  “Miss Kitty wants this,” she said, “and wonders why you have not gone back to her in the garden.  May I take the parasol?”

“Take it.”

The tone of the mistress’s voice was completely changed.  The servant looked at her with vague misgivings.  “Are you not well, ma’am?”