Of what was she thinking? She must rescue herself. Lady Palsworthy was the widow of a knight who had won his spurs in the wholesale coal trade, she was of good seventeenth-century attorney blood, a county family, and distantly related to Aunt Mollie’s deceased curate. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. She lay and nibbled at a sprig of dwarf rhododendron. But there was nothing in her bearing that a passer-by would have noted, to tell of the excitement that possessed her.
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