She could not have slept much, but the birds were singing when she finally awoke, the sunlight pouring into her window:  And the hands of her clock pointed to half-past seven when she rang her bell.  It was a relief to breakfast alone, or at least to sip her coffee in solitude.  And the dew was still on the grass as she crossed the wide lawn and made her way around the lake to the path that entered the woods at its farther end.  She was not tired, yet she would have liked to have lain down under the green panoply of the forest, where the wild flowers shyly raised sweet faces to be kissed, and lose herself in the forgetfulness of an eternal sleep; never to go back again to an Eden contaminated.  But when she lingered the melody of a thrush pierced her through and through.  At last she turned and reluctantly retraced her steps, as one whose hour of reprieve has expired.

If Mrs. Rindge had a girlish air when fully arrayed for the day, she looked younger and more angular still in that article of attire known as a dressing gown.  And her eyes, Honora remarked, were peculiarly bright:  glittering, perhaps, would better express the impression they gave; as though one got a glimpse through them of an inward consuming fire.  Her laughter rang shrill and clear as Honora entered the hall by the rear door, and the big clock proclaimed that the hour was half-past eleven.  Hugh and Mr. Pembroke were standing at the foot of the stairs, gazing upward.  And Honora, following their glances, beheld the two ladies, in the negligee referred to above, with their elbows on the railing of the upper hall and their faces between their hands, engaged in a lively exchange of compliments with the gentlemen.  Mrs. Kame looked sleepy.

“Such a night!” she said, suppressing a yawn.  “My dear, you did well to go to bed.”

“And to cap it all,” cried Mrs. Rindge, “Georgie fell over backwards in one of those beautiful Adam chairs, and there’s literally nothing left of it.  If an ocean steamer had hit it, or a freight tram, it couldn’t have been more thoroughly demolished.”

“You pushed me,” declared Mr. Pembroke.

“Did I, Hugh?  I barely touched him.”

“You knocked him into a cocked hat,” said Hugh.  “And if you’d been in that kimono, you could have done it even easier.”

“Georgie broke the whole whiskey service,—­or whatever it is,” Mrs. Rindge went on, addressing Honora again.  “He fell into it.”

“He’s all right this morning,” observed Mrs. Kame, critically.

“I think I’ll take to swallowing swords and glass and things in public.  I can do it so well,” said Mr. Pembroke.

“I hope you got what you like for breakfast,” said Honora to the ladies.

“Hurry up and come down, Adele,” said Hugh, “if you want to look over the horses before lunch.”

“It’s Georgie’s fault,” replied Mrs. Rindge; “he’s been standing in the door of my sitting-room for a whole half-hour talking nonsense.”