"Aunt Caroline, this is my wife."
"I am glad to see you, dear," said the old lady, giving her hand, but not rising. "Sit down. When you are a little nervous you ought to sit down. Frank, give me that ammonia from the mantelpiece."
It was a small glass phial, and labeled "Poison." She smelt the stopper, and then handed it to Sheila, telling her to do the same.
"Why did your maid do your hair in such a way?" she asked suddenly.
"I haven't got a maid," said Sheila, "and I always do my hair so."
"Don't be offended. I like it. But you must not make a fool of yourself. Your hair is too much that of a country beauty going to a ball. Paterson will show you how to do your hair."
"Oh, I say, aunt," cried Lavender with a fine show of carelessness, "you mustn't go and spoil her hair. I think it is very pretty as it is, and that woman of yours would simply go and make a mop of it. You'd think the girls now-a-days dressed their hair by shoving their head into a furze bush and giving it a couple of turns."
She paid no heed to him, but turned to Sheila and said, "You are an only child?"
"Yes."
"Why did you leave your father?"