Susan lay awake almost all night, quiet and wide-eyed in the darkness, thinking, thinking, thinking.  She arraigned herself mentally before a jury of her peers, and pleaded her own case.  She did not think of Stephen Bocqueraz to-night,—­thought of him indeed did not lead to rational argument!—­but she confined her random reflections to the conduct of other women.  There was a moral code of course, there were Commandments.  But by whose decree might some of these be set aside, and ignored, while others must still be observed in the letter and the spirit?  Susan knew that Ella would discharge a maid for stealing perfumery or butter, and within the hour be entertaining a group of her friends with the famous story of her having taken paste jewels abroad, to be replaced in London by real stones and brought triumphantly home under the very eyes of the custom-house inspectors.  She had heard Mrs. Porter Pitts, whose second marriage followed her divorce by only a few hours, addressing her respectful classes in the Correction Home for Wayward Girls.  She had heard Mrs. Leonard Orvis congratulated upon her lineage and family connections on the very same occasion when Mrs. Orvis had entertained a group of intimates with a history of her successful plan for keeping the Orvis nursery empty.

It was to the Ellas, the Pitts, the Orvises, that Susan addressed her arguments.  They had broken laws.  She was only temporarily following their example.  She heard the clock strike four, before she went to sleep, and was awakened by Emily at nine o’clock the next morning.

It was a rainy, gusty morning, with showers slapping against the windows.  The air in the house was too warm, radiators were purring everywhere, logs crackled in the fireplaces of the dining-room and hall.  Susan, looking into the smaller library, saw Ella in a wadded silk robe, comfortably ensconced beside the fire, with the newspapers.

“Good-morning, Sue,” said Ella politely.  Susan’s heart sank.  “Come in,” said Ella.  “Had your breakfast?”

“Not yet,” said Susan, coming in.

“Well, I just want to speak to you a moment,” said Ella, and Susan knew, from the tone, that she was in for an unpleasant half-hour.  Emily, following Susan, entered the library, too, and seated herself on the window-seat.  Susan did not sit down.

“I’ve got something on my mind, Susan,” Ella said, frowning as she tossed aside her papers, “and,—­you know me.  I’m like all the Roberts, when I want to say a thing, I say it!” Ella eyed her groomed fingers a moment, bit at one before she went on.  “Now, there’s only one important person in this house, Sue, as I always tell everyone, and that’s Mamma!  ’Em and I don’t matter,’ I say, ’but Mamma’s old, and she hasn’t very much longer to live, and she does count!’ I—­you may not always see it,” Ella went on with dignity, “but I always arrange my engagements so that Mamma shall be the first consideration, she likes to have me go places, and I like to go, but many and many a night when you and Em think that I am out somewhere I’m in there with Mamma—–­”