Behind the straight purple backs and smooth purple legs on the box before them, Madam Weatherstone and Mrs. Weatherstone rolled home silently, a silence of thunderous . Another purple person opened the door for them, and when Madam Weatherstone said, “We will have tea on the terrace,” it was brought them by a fourth.  
“I was astonished at your attitude, Viva,” began the old lady, at length. “Of course it was Mrs. Dankshire's fault in the first place, but to encourage that,—outrageous person! How could you do it!”
 
Young Mrs. Weatherstone emptied her cup and set it down.
 
“A sudden access of courage, I suppose,” she said. “I was astonished at myself.”
 
“I wholly disagree with you!” replied her mother-in-law. “Never in my life have I heard such nonsense. Talk like that would be dangerous, if it were not absurd! It would destroy the home! It would strike at the roots of the family.”
 
Viva eyed her quietly, trying to bear in mind the weight of a tradition, the habits of a lifetime, the effect of long years of uninterrupted worship of household gods.
 
“It doesn't seem so to me,” she said slowly, “I was much interested and impressed. She is evidently a young woman of knowledge and experience, and put her case well. It has quite waked me up.”
 
“It has quite upset you!” was the reply. “You'll be ill after this, I am sure. Hadn't you better go and lie down now? I'll have some dinner sent to you.”
 
“Thank you,” said Viva, rising and walking to the edge of the broad terrace. “You are very kind. No. I do not wish to lie down. I haven't felt so awake in—” she drew a pink cluster of oleander against her cheek and thought a moment—“in several years.” There was a new look about her certainly.
 
“Nervous excitement,” her mother-in-law replied. “You're not like yourself at all to-night. You'll certainly be ill to-morrow!”
 
Viva turned at this and again astonished the old lady by kissing her. “Not at all!” she said . “I'm going to be well to-morrow. You will see!”
 
She went to her room, drew a chair to the wide west window with the far off view and sat herself down to think. Diantha's assured , her clear reasoning, her courage, her common sense; and something of tenderness and she discerned also, had touched deep chords in this woman's nature. It was like the sound of far doors opening, windows thrown up, the of and of , keen notes. A sense of hope, of power, of new enthusiasm, rose in her.
 
Orchardina Society, eagerly observing “young Mrs. Weatherstone” from her first appearance, had always classified her as “delicate.” Beside the firm features and high color of the matron-in-office, this pale quiet slender woman looked like a and transient visitor. But her white forehead was broad under its soft-hanging eaves of hair, and her chin, though lacking in prognathous or bull-dog breadth, had a certain depth which gave hope to the physiognomist.
 
She was strangely roused and stirred by the afternoon's events. “I'm like that man in 'Phantastes',” she thought contemptuously, “who stayed so long in that because it didn't occur to him to open the door! Why don't I—?” she rose and walked slowly up and down, her hands behind her. “I will!” she said at last.
 
Then she dressed for dinner, in her mind certain suspicions long suppressed, but now flaming out in clear conviction in the light of Diantha's words. “Sleeping in, indeed!” she murmured to herself. “And nobody doing anything!”
 
She looked herself in the eye in the long mirror. Her gown was an impressive one, her hair coiled high, a gold band ringed it like a crown. A clear red lit her checks.
 
She rang. Little Ilda, the newest maid, appeared, gazing at her in shy . Mrs. Weatherstone looked at her with new eyes. “Have you been here long?” she asked. “What is your name?”
 
“No, ma'am,” said the child—she was scarce more. “Only a week and two days. My name is Ilda.”
 
“Who engaged you?”
 
“Mrs. Halsey, ma'am.”
 
“Ah,” said Mrs. Weatherstone, to herself, “and I engaged Mrs. Halsey!” “Do you like it here?” she continued .
 
“Oh yes, ma'am!” said Ilda. “That is—” she stopped, blushed, and continued bravely. “I like to work for you, ma'am.”
 
“Thank you, Ilda. Will you ask Mrs. Halsey to come to me—at once, please.”
 
Ilda went, more impressed than ever with the desirability of her new place, and mistress.
 
As she was about to pass the door of Mr. Matthew Weatherstone, that young gentleman stepped out and her. “Whither away so fast, my dear?” he inquired.
 
“Please let one pass, sir! I'm on an errand. Please, sir?”
 
“You must give me a kiss first!” said he—and since there seemed no escape and she was in haste, she submitted. He took six—and she ran away half crying.
 
Mrs. Halsey, little accustomed to take orders from her real mistress, and resting comfortably in her room, had half a mind to send an excuse.
 
“I'm not dressed,” she said to the maid.
 
“Well she is!” replied Ilda, “dressed splendid. She said 'at once, please.'”
 
“A pretty time o' day!” said the with some , hastily buttoning her gown; and she presently appeared, somewhat heated, before Mrs. Weatherstone.
 
That lady was sitting, cool and gracious, her long ivory paper-cutter between the pages of a new magazine.
 
“In how short a time could you pack, Mrs. Halsey?” she inquired.
 
“Pack, ma'am? I'm not accustomed to doing packing. I'll send one of the maids. Is it your things, ma'am?”
 
“No,” said Mrs. Weatherstone. “It is yours I refer to. I wish you to pack your things and leave the house—in an hour. One of the maids can help you, if necessary. Anything you cannot take can be sent after you. Here is a check for the following month's wages.”
 
Mrs. Halsey was nearly a head taller than her employer, a showy woman, handsome enough, red-lipped, and with a moist and eye. This was so sudden a misadventure that she forgot her usual caution. “You've no right to turn me off in a minute like this!” she burst . “I'll leave it to Madam Weatherstone!”
 
“If you will look at the terms on which I engaged you, Mrs. Halsey, you will find that a month's warning, or a month's wages, was . Here are the wages—as to the warning, that has been given for some months past!”
 
“By whom, Ma'am?”
 
“By yourself, Mrs. Halsey—I think you understand me. Oscar will take your things as soon as they are ready.”
 
Mrs. Halsey met her steady eye a moment—saw more than she cared to face—and left the room.
 
She took care, however, to carry some letters to Madam Weatherstone, and announced her discharge; also, by some coincidence, she met Mr. Matthew in the hall upstairs, and weepingly her to him, meeting , both and practical.
 
When hurried servants were sent to find their young mistress they reported that she must have gone out, and in truth she had; out on her own roof, where she sat quite still, though shivering a little now and then from the new excitement, until dinner time.
 
This meal, in the mind of Madam Weatherstone, was the crowning factor of daily life; and, on state occasions, of social life. In her cosmogony the central sun was a round mahogany table; all other details of housekeeping about it in varying orbits. To serve an endless series of delicious meals, dinners, was, in her eyes, the chief end of woman; the most high purpose of the home.
 
Therefore, though angry and , she appeared when the meal was announced; and when her daughter-in-law, and royally , took her place as usual, no emotion was allowed to appear before the purple footman who attended.
 
“I understood you were out, Viva,” she said politely.
 
“I was,” replied Viva, with equal decorum. “It is charming outside at this time in the evening—don't you think so?”
 
Young Matthew was gloomy and throughout the length and breadth of the meal; and when they were left with their coffee in the drawing room, he broke out, “What's this I hear about Mrs. Halsey being fired without notice?”
 
“That is what I wish to know, Viva,” said the grandmother. “The poor woman is greatly . Is there not some mistake?”
 
“It's a damn shame,” said Matthew.
 
The younger lady glanced from one to the other, and wondered to see how little she minded it. “The door was there all the time!” she thought to herself, as she looked her stepson in the eye and said, “Hardly drawing-room language, Matthew. Your grandmother is present!”
 
He stared at her in dumb , so she went............