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toise-shell rims, the first of their kind to be seen in Shrewsbury.

Chu-Chin gave one rapturous, slobbery wipe at her face with his tongue, then rushed on into Mrs. Royal’s parlour. The beautiful mauve dress was spotted from collar to hem with muddy paw-marks. Emily thought that Chu-Chin fully deserved Mrs. Royal’s bad opinion and mentally remarked that if he were her dog he should behave better. But Miss Royal did not reprove him in any way, and perhaps Emily’s secret criticism was subconsciously prompted by her instant perception that Miss Royal’s greeting, while perfectly courteous, was very cold. From her letter Emily had somehow expected a warmer reception.

“Won’t you come in and sit down?” said Miss Royal. She ushered Emily in, waved to a comfortable chair, and sat down on a stiff and uncompromising Chippendale one. Somehow, Emily, sensitive at all times and abnormally so just now, felt that Miss Royal’s selection of a chair was ominous. Why hadn’t she sunk chummily into the depths of the big velvet morris? But there she sat, a stately, aloof figure, having apparently paid not the slightest attention to the appalling mud-stains on her beautiful dress. Chu-Chin had jumped on the big plush davenport, where he sat, cockily looking from one to the other as if enjoying the situation. It was all too evident that, as Mrs. Royal had foreboded, something had “upset” Miss Royal, and Emily’s heart suddenly sank like lead.

“It’s—a lovely day,” she faltered. She knew it was an incredibly stupid thing to say, but she had to say something when Miss Royal wouldn’t say anything. The silence was too awful.

“Very lovely,” agreed Miss Royal, not looking at Emily at all but at Chu-Chin, who was thumping a beautiful silk and lace cushion of Mrs. Royal’s with his wet tail. Emily hated Chu-Chin. It was a relief to hate him, since as yet she did not dare to hate Miss Royal. But she wished herself a thousand miles away. Oh, if she only hadn't