“Granny paid three times that for that brown hat last winter,” observed Nina.

“I know she did, and it was absolutely an unsuitable hat, and your mother wouldn’t let you wear it,” Harriet said, mildly.  “You are a type, my dear.  You must dress for that type.”

Nina looked pleased.  She was at an age when all girls are vain.  Few people noticed the appearance of the young heiress of Richard Carter, except perhaps with kindly pity, but it was part of Miss Field’s duty to make the best of it, and Nina was grateful.

“I’ll wear it to Francesca’s tea!” she said, of the blue hat.  The social bow of a young neighbour, a little older than Nina, was to be made in a few days’ time, at a garden party, and Nina was absorbed in the exciting prospect of assisting formally.

“No, it’s not full dress,” Harriet told her.  “You’ll have to wear the white mull, and the white hat, and look very girly-girly.”

“My eye-glasses make me look like a school-teacher playing baby,” Nina said, gloomily.  Harriet laughed, dazed, but not ungrateful to find that she could laugh and speak at all.

“He’s come back!” she said in her heart.  “My darling child, you aren’t going to wear your glasses!” she assured Nina, aloud.  “Not if you have to have a dog and a cane!  Not if you fall into the fountain!”

“I shall be scared stiff!” Nina grumbled, coming out with her Spanish books.  Harriet, distracted for a moment, came to lean over her shoulder, and the terror of half an hour ago began to flood her soul and mind again.  She went out to the porch, and looked down into the clear shade of the early twilight, under the trees.  The terrace was deserted; every sign of the tea-party had vanished, not a crumb marred the order of the grass-grown bricks.  The chairs held formal attitudes, the table was empty.  All the motor-cars were gone from the drive.  She turned back into the room, breathing more easily.

At half-past seven she came up from a little diplomatic adjusting in the service end of the house, to peep at Nina, who was reading in bed, and to go on to Isabelle’s room.  If Mrs. Carter was alone, she liked to see Harriet then, to be sure of any last message, or to discuss any domestic plan.

Harriet found her, exquisite in twinkling black spangles, before her mirror.  Isabelle’s hair was dressed in dark and shining waves and scallops, netted invisibly, set with brilliant pins.  There was not an inch of her whole beautiful little person that would not have survived a critical inspection.  Her skin, her white throat, her arms and hands and fingernails, her waist and ankles and her pretty feet, were all absolute perfection.  The illusion that veiled her slender arms stood at crisp angles; the silk stockings showed a warm skin tint through their thinness; her lower eyelids had been skillfully darkened, her cheeks delicately rouged, and her lips touched with carmine; her brows had been clipped and trained and pencilled, her lashes brushed with liquid dye, and what fragrant powders and perfumes could add, had been added in generous measure.  She wore diamonds on her fingers, in her ears, and about her throat, and her gown was held at her full smooth breast by a platinum bar that bore a double line of magnificent stones.  Harriet always thought her handsome; to-night she had to admit that her employer was truly beautiful.