"Maryanneliza, do keep the children quiet. The bad twins are fighting with the good twins, and the odd ones are making such a noise that I can't finish this story."  
"Well, ma'am, there's so much to be done. The breakfast's to clear away, and the washing to be counted, and----"
 
"Oh, don't trouble me," cried Mrs. Baldwin, settling herself on the sofa. "It's one of my bad days. What Miss Mason will think of the way this house is kept, I don't know. What do I pay you wages for?"
 
"It's little enough I get," said Mary Ann Eliza, firing up.
 
"More than you're worth," retorted her mistress. "If you were a mother, with seven orphans¹ to keep, you might talk. Where's Miss Gerty?"
 
"Gone to see Mr. Tracey at the factory."
 
"So like her," lamented² the mother; "no consideration for my feelings. What I feel only the doctor knows. There!" as several wild screams rent the air to tatters, "that's blood. If any one of my darlings die, I'll hold you responsible, Maryanneliza!" Mrs. Baldwin ran the three names into one as the children did, and shrieked³ out to stop the servant from going. But Maryanneliza knew better. If she stopped to listen to Mrs. Baldwin's complaints, there would be no work done. She simply bolted to see which child was being tormented⁴ to death, and Mrs. Baldwin, after calling in vain, subsided⁵ into her book, and solaced⁶ herself with a lump of Turkish delight.
 
She was not unlike a Turkish odalisque herself, if rumour⁷ speaks truly of their fatness and flabbiness. A more shapeless woman it would have been hard to discover, and she usually wore a tea-gown as the least troublesome garment to assume. From one week's end to the other, Mrs. Baldwin never went out, save for a stroll in the garden. Not even the delights of shopping could tempt⁸ her into making any exertion⁹, and she had long since ceased to care for the preservation¹⁰ of her figure or good looks. At one time of her life she had been handsome, but the production of seven children, including two sets of twins, had proved too much for her. Also her second husband had deserted¹¹ her, and as he had been responsible for six children, she complained bitterly of his absence. He was supposed to be alive, but kept carefully away from his too prolific¹² wife. For eight years she had not heard from him, but never ceased to expect him back.
 
Mrs. Baldwin's first husband had been a gentleman, and she was the pretty daughter of a lodging-house keeper, who had ensnared him when he was not on his guard. His family disowned him, and after the birth of a daughter, the young man broke his neck when hunting. He left Mrs. Harrow, as she was then, with the child and five hundred a year. Afterwards a man called Rufus Baldwin, attracted by the money, married the pretty young widow. Luckily, owing to the will, Mr. Baldwin was not able to seize the principal of the income. But he lived on his wife till six children came to lessen¹³ the money, and then finding he could get nothing more luxurious¹⁴, he ran away. Mrs. Baldwin then removed to Cloverhead, and occupied an old manor-house at a small rent. It was a pleasant, rambling¹⁵ old mansion¹⁶ in a quiet street, and here she lived very comfortably on her five hundred a year.
 
"Do you remember Gerty Harrow with whom we were at school?" wrote Laura Mason to an old friend. "She lives here, near the place of my brother-in-law, and is now about twenty-two years of age. Such a nice girl--pretty and clever, and engaged to a most amusing American called Luther Tracey. He manufactures motor-cars, and Gerty Baldwin drives them. Whenever a car is sold, Gerty goes down and stops for a week or so with the people who buy it, to show them how it works. Being pretty she gets plenty to do. Mrs. Baldwin objected to Gerty doing this for a livelihood¹⁸, and only consented when Gerty agreed to drop her father's name. She is Miss Baldwin now, and I like her more than ever. The mother----"
 
Here followed several marks of exclamation¹⁹, as though Laura's powers of writing failed her, as they assuredly did. It would have taken the pen of Dickens to describe this lazy, self-indulgent, querulous woman, who lay on a sofa all day reading novels. At the present moment, she was deep in a Family Herald²⁰ story called "Only an Earl," in which a governess with a single rose in her hair marries, with great self-abnegation, a mere²¹ earl, after refusing two dukes and a foreign prince. Mrs. Baldwin, basking²² like a cat in the sunshine that poured through the window, read each page slowly, and ate a lump of Turkish delight every time she turned a page.
 
The sitting-room²³ was most untidy. Children's toys were strewn about; the carpet was raggedy the pictures hung askew²⁴, the red plush table-cloth--it was a most abominable²⁵ covering--was stained, the blind was torn, and a broken window-pane had been filled up with brown paper. Yet the room had a comfortable, homely²⁶ look, and if it had not been so disorderly, would have been pleasant to live in. But Mrs. Baldwin, quite undisturbed by the confusion, read on with great enjoyment²⁷. She only lifted her eyes when Laura Mason entered the room, and then her first words were querulous.
 
"How you can bear to stop here with Getty when your own home is so beautiful, I really don't know," moaned Mrs. Baldwin, keeping her place in the tale by bending the book backward. "Just look at this room. I may toil²⁸ from morning to night, and it never will look tidy."
 
"It's comfortable, at all events," said Laura, sitting down. "Do you feel well this morning, Mrs. Baldwin."
 
"Just alive. I could hardly get out of bed. Not a wink²⁹ of sleep, and dreadful dreams."
 
Mrs. Baldwin did not explain how she could dream without sleeping, but she was such a wonderful woman that she could do anything. For instance, she could be idle throughout the day, and keep up the fiction that she worked like a slave. She could enjoy her life in laziness and dirt and selfishness, posing as a martyr³⁰ to every one. Laura saw through her as most people did; but as Laura was a guest, and Gerty's friend, she did not explain herself at length, as she would have liked to do. Besides, Mrs. Baldwin was a good-natured old dormouse, and no one could be angry with her long.
 
"I have been out with Gerty," said Laura, sitting near the window; "she has gone to the factory to see Mr. Tracey."
 
"She never thinks of me slaving from morning till night," moaned the mother. "I'm skin and bone."
 
Miss Mason nearly laughed outright³¹, for Mrs. Baldwin was as fat as butter, and quite as soft. "You should take more care of yourself."
 
"No, Miss Mason," said the heroic woman. "I must deny myself all pleasures for the sake of my babes. Ah, they will never know what a mother they have."
 
It certainly would not be for the want of telling, for Mrs. Baldwin was always recounting her virtues³² at length. She did so now. "When I was young and gay, and truly lovely, and lived with ma in Soho Square," she rambled³³ on, "I little thought that life would be so hard. When Mr. Harrow led me to the altar, all was sunshine, but now penury³⁴ and disgrace are my portion."
 
"Oh, not so bad as that, Mrs. Baldwin," protested Laura.
 
"Penury, disgrace, and desertion, Miss Mason. Rufus Baldwin has left me with six pledges of his affection, and but for the forethought of my first husband--who must have foreseen the twins--I would have starved in chains and miry clay."
 
Having thus placed herself in the lowest position she could think of, in order to extort³⁵ sympathy, Mrs. Baldwin ate more Turkish delight--she was too selfish to offer Laura any--and stated that her heart was broken. "Though I don't show it, being trained by ma to bear my woes³⁶ in silence," she finished.
 
Laura said a few words of comfort in order to stop further complaints, and then stated that she was going to Westcliff-on-Sea in two days. "My sister Julia is expecting me," she said, "and I have been with you for over a week. It is so good of you to have me."
 
"Not at all. I've done my best to make you comfortable, Miss Mason, though heaven knows I can hardly keep on my feet." Here Mrs. Baldwin closed her eyes as a token of extreme exhaustion³⁷. "But we must do our duty in the world, as I always tell Horry, who is to be a parson, if he can pass the examinations, which I doubt. Of course Gerty will marry Mr. Tracey, who is well off, and leave her poor ma, who has done so much for her. But I am determined³⁸ that my babes shall occupy the best places in society. Totty, Dolly, and Sally shall marry money. Jimmy and Dickey must win renown³⁹ to repay me for my lifelong agonies. You don't look well, Miss Mason?"
 
The suddenness of this question, coming so quickly after the rambling discourse⁴⁰, made Laura start and colour. She was a fair, pretty girl, with yellow hair and a creamy complexion⁴¹. Her eyes were dark, her mouth delightful⁴², and her nose was "tip-tilted like the petal⁴³ of a flower," to quote her favourite poet. Not a particularly original girl either in looks or character, but charming and sympathetic. Laura had a wide circle of friends who all loved her, but no one could call her clever. But she was so womanly that men liked her. "I am quite well, Mrs. Baldwin," she declared; "only I did not sleep much last night."
 
"Dreams! dreams!" moaned Mrs. Baldwin. "I had horrible dreams about you. I fancied I saw you eating bananas. Every one knows that means trouble. But pine-apples growing in ice are the worst," said Mrs. Baldwin. "I have never dreamed that. Trouble is coming to you."
 
"Don't!" cried Laura, starting to her feet, and with an anxious air; "please don't! I think dreams are nonsense."
 
"No," said Mrs. Baldwin, producing a small book from under her sofa pillow. "Read this, and see what it means to dream of sparrows pecking cats to death."
 
Laura laughed. "I should rather think the cats would eat the birds."
 
"Not in a dream. Everything goes by contraries in dreams. Before John Baldwin ran away, I dreamed he was rushing into my arms, crowned with honeysuckle. But that day he went. Didn't your walk last night do you good?"
 
"No," said Laura shortly, then went on with some hesitation⁴⁴. "I was away only for half an hour."
 
"Where did you go?"
 
"Across the fields."
 
"Thinking of Mr. Calvert, no doubt," said Mrs. Baldwin playfully.
 
Laura grew red, and on another occasion would have resented this remark about the young gentleman mentioned by Mrs. Baldwin. But at this moment she appeared to be rather glad of the suggestion. "I was thinking of him," she assented⁴⁵.
 
"A very nice young man, though he is an actor."
 
"Why shouldn't he be an actor?" demanded Laura angrily.
 
"There! there!" said Mrs. Baldwin soothingly⁴⁶; and aggravatingly⁴⁷, "We know that love levels all ranks."
 
"Arnold Calvert is a gentleman."
 
"Your sister, Mrs. Fane, doesn't think so. She expressed herself much annoyed that he should pay his addresses to you."
 
"Julia can mind her own business," said Laura angrily. "She married Mr. Fane, and he wasn't a very good match."
 
"No indeed. Your sister had the money."
 
"And I have money also. Quite enough for Arnold and I to live on, as you----" Here Laura held her tongue. She really did not see why she should tell Mrs. Baldwin all her private affairs. But when the heart is very full, the tongue will speak out. Luckily at this moment there was another outburst of noise overhead, and Mrs. Baldwin moaned three times.
 
"The bad twins are persecuting⁴⁸ the good ones, and the odd ones are looking on," she lamented. "Do go up and see, Miss Mason."
 
Laura, glad of an excuse to leave the room, saw Mrs. Baldwin with another lump of delight in her mouth, and another page turned, and flew up the stairs. Here she found a general rebellion. The bad twins, Totty and Dickey, aged¹⁷ ten, were pinching the good twins, Jimmy and Sally, aged twelve. Horry and Dolly, who, not being twins, were called the odd ones, looked on complacently⁴⁹. Laura darted⁵⁰ into the middle of the fray⁵¹, and parted the fighters.
 
"Horry! Dolly! You ought to be ashamed of yourselves to see these children fight so. Horry, you are fourteen, and you, Dolly, are seventeen. Why don't you behave?"
 
"We are behaving," said Dolly, a girl in the stage of long legs, short frocks, and inky fingers. "We haven't touched them. I can't study my French lesson for the noise."
 
"And I've got my algebra⁵² to do."
 
"You shouldn't learn lessons on Sunday," said Laura.
 
"Why not? Gerty's gone to business."
 
"She has not. She only went to see if Mr. Tracey found his motor-car that was lost last night."
 
"Ah! And I'm glad of it," cried Horry triumphantly⁵³. "He wouldn't let me sit in it to watch."
 
"And a good thing to," said Dolly, pensively⁵⁴ picking a hole in her stocking; "you started it last time."
 
"And nearly ran us over," said one of the good twins.
 
"I wish he had," said the bad twins in chorus. "Come and play, Miss Mason. Bible games!"
 
"I have no time. Gerty will be back soon. Now, be good children, and don't disturb your mother. She has a headache. Besides, you must get ready for church."
 
"I hate church," growled⁵⁵ Horry. "And if mother thinks I'm going to be a parson, I ain't. So there now."
 
"You'll never go to heaven then," said Sally, who was the most pious⁵⁶ of the good twins.
 
"Oh, mon Dieu, quel dommage!" said Dolly.
 
"Dolly!" cried Laura, shocked.
 
"I'm only swearing in French. It doesn't sound so bad as using bad words in English."
 
"No," chimed in a bad twin. "I heard the gardener say----"
 
"Hold your tongue, Jimmy; you needn't say the word!"
 
But Jimmy, being bad by nature and training, had made up his mind to say the word, and did so very distinctly. An uproar⁵⁷ ensued, which ended by the entrance of Mary Anne Eliza. "Come and be washed." There was a chorus of protests, in the midst of which Laura escaped. Not being inclined to talk further to Mrs. Baldwin, she went out in the garden, which was large and as ill-kept as the house within. At the gate she paused, and leaning over, looked up the lane. It was a beautiful morning, and the air was as balmy as the sky was blue. But the exquisite⁵⁸ weather did not banish⁵⁹ the dark look from Laura's face. She gazed up the road with compressed lips, and then taking a letter out of her pocket, she read it hurriedly. Thus engaged, she did not see a tall brunette flying down the lane, with a flushed face, and an air of excitement.
 
"O Laura!" cried the newcomer; "O Laura! Such news--dreadful news."
 
Miss Mason started, and her face grew pale. Hastily thrusting the letter into her pocket, she looked at the girl. "What is it, Gerty? Nothing is wrong with Arnold?"
 
"No! no! What a timid thing you are," said Gerty, opening the gate. "But I have just seen Luther. He hasn't found his car. But he told me that a murder had been committed in your sister's house."
 
"A murder!" Laura grasped her friend's arm. "Not Arnold?"
 
"No. It's a woman."
 
"Who is she?"
 
"No one knows. She was found lying dead in the White Room. Stabbed in the back, and quite dead. Such a pretty woman, Luther says, and quite young. Luther thinks the murderer ran away with his car, and that's how it's missing. He's coming round here this morning to see you."
 
"To see me? Why should he see me? I know nothing."
 
Laura spoke⁶⁰ sharply, and her face was in a glow of colour. At the same time it expressed bewilderment. "How did the woman enter the house?" she asked; "and who is she?"
 
"I tell you no one knows," said Gerty impatiently. "You'll hear all from Luther, when he comes. But don't say anything to mother. She'll only moan and make a fuss. Besides, Luther says it had better be kept quiet till your brother-in-law comes up. He has been telegraphed for by the police."
 
"The police. O Gerty, will they bring the police into the matter?"
 
"Of course. It was a policeman who found the body last night."
 
"How did the policeman enter the house?" asked Laura. "It's shut up, and not even a caretaker was left."
 
"I don't know the whole story. Luther would not tell me much." Here Gerty looked at her friend. "Laura, I thought you went to the house last night."
 
"No," said Laura, after a moment's hesitation. "I told you that I was going to meet Arnold. You know that I have to meet him by stealth, since Julia objects to our engagement. It is not likely we would meet at the house--especially as it is locked up."
 
"Did you meet him?" asked Gerty persistently⁶¹ and curiously⁶².
 
"I didn't. I went into the fields by the Nightingale's Tree, and waited till nearly a quarter to ten. But Arnold never came."
 
"Did he promise to come?"
 
"No. I only went on the chance. He thought that he might be able to get away if his understudy could take his part in the piece."
 
"I expect he couldn't get away," said Gerty. "How awful this murder is. I wonder who the woman can be, and how she came to be killed."
 
"It's very strange," said Laura, who was pale but composed. "Gerty, did you tell Luther I was out last night?"
 
"No. We were too busy talking of the crime."
 
"Then say nothing. I should only get into trouble with Julia."