Having risen, she went into the drawing-room on the same floor as her bedchamber, and summoned two menservants.  After her first serious illness, she had for a time been carried up and down stairs in a chair made for that purpose; she now bade her attendants fetch the chair, and convey her to the top story of the house.  It was done.  In her hand she had a key, and with this she unlocked the door of that room which had been closed for half a century.  Having stood alone within the garret for a few minutes, she called to the men, who, on entering, looked with curiosity at dust-covered forms in clay and in marble.  Their mistress pointed to a bust which stood on a wooden pedestal some three feet high.

“You are to clean that.  Bring water and soap.  I will wait here whilst you do it.”

The task was quickly performed; the marble shone once more, and its pedestal of lustrous black looked little the worse for long seclusion.  Lady Ogram sat with her eyes fixed upon the work of art, and for a minute or two neither moved nor spoke.

“Who is that?” she inquired suddenly, indicating the head, and turning her look upon the two men.

“I think it is yourself, my lady,” answered the bolder of the two.

Lady Ogram smiled.  That use of the present tense was agreeable to her.

“You are to take it down to the green drawing-room.  Carry me there, first, and I will show you where to place it.”

Arrived at the ground-floor, she quitted her chair and walked into the drawing-room with step which was almost firm.  Here, among the flowers and leafage, sat May Tomalin, who, surprised at her aunt’s early appearance, rose forward with an exclamation of pleasure.

“How well you look this morning, aunt!”

“I’m glad you think so, my dear,” was the pleased and dignified reply.  “Be so kind, May, as to go into the library, and wait there until I send for you.”

The girl turned pale.  For a moment, she thought her escapade of this morning had been discovered, and that terrible things were about to happen.  Her fright could not escape Lady Ogram’s observation.

“What, have I frightened you?  Did it remind you of being sent into the corner when you were a little girl?”

She laughed with discordant gaiety.

“Really, for the moment I thought I was being punished,” replied May.  And she too laughed, a melodious trill.

A quarter of an hour passed.  Lady Ogram presented herself at the library door, and saw May reading, whilst Constance Bride sat writing at the table.

“Come, both of you!”

Surprised at the look and tone with which they were summoned, the two followed into the drawing-room, where, guided by Lady Ogram’s glance, they became aware of a new ornament.  They approached; they gazed; they wondered.

“Who is that?” asked their conductress, turning to Miss Bride.

Constance felt no doubt as to the person whom the bust was supposed to represent, and her disgust at what she thought the shameless flattery practised by the sculptor hardly allowed her to reply.