A LADY IN BLACK.
CHAPTER I.
A MYSTERY SOMEWHERE.
“And besides, you know, my dear Mrs. Rose, there is generally something wrong about a woman who dresses so very well.”
So spoke Mrs. Bonnington, the Vicar’s wife, laying down the law; a law indeed, which most English women are ready to take for granted. Mrs. Rose, a tall, thin, pale lady who had “nerves,” and who, on this bright April morning, wore a woollen shawl half off her shoulders as she sat in the warm sun by the dining-room window, assented readily.
“That’s what I always say. Especially a widow. I’m sure if anything were to happen to my husband,” went on Mrs. Rose euphemistically, “the last thing I should think about would be my dress. I should be far too unhappy to trouble myself about the fit of my dresses or the shape of my bonnets.”
Now this was perhaps true, as Mrs. Rose, though she spent as much money and as much thought upon her clothes as her compeers, never succeeded in looking as if her clothes had been made for her, or as if the subject of “fit” were of any importance.
Mrs. Bonnington shook her head with vague disquietude, and resumed her homily.
“I assure you the matter has caused me a good deal of anxiety. You know how solicitous both the Vicar and I are about the tone of the parish.”
“I do indeed,” murmured Mrs. Rose sympathetically.