good soul, what's to be done. You said
something about the pattern just now. Perhaps I'm
too big for the pattern? I can't help it, if I am.
Many's the good cry I had, when I was a growing
girl, over my own size! There's half too much
of me, ma'am—measure me along or measure me
across, I don't deny it— there's half too much of
me, anyway."

"My dear madam," protested Mrs. Lecount,
"you do yourself a wrong! Permit me to assure
you that you possess a commanding figure—a
figure of Minerva. A majestic simplicity in the
form of a woman, imperatively demands a
majestic simplicity in the form of that woman's
dress. The laws of costume are classical; the
laws of costume must not be trifled with! Plaits
for Venus—puffs for Juno—folds for Minerva.
I venture to suggest a total change of pattern.
Your niece has other dresses in her collection.
Why may we not find a Minerva pattern among
them?"

As she said those words, she led the way back
to the wardrobe.

Mrs. Wragge followed, and took the dresses
out, one by one, shaking her head despondently.
Silk dresses appeared, muslin dresses appeared.
The one dress which remained invisible, was the
dress of which Mrs. Lecount was in search.

"There's the lot of 'em," said Mrs. Wragge.
" They may do for Venus and the two other Ones
(I've seen 'em in picters without a morsel of
decent linen among the three)—but they won't
do for Me."

"Surely there is another dress left?" said Mrs.
Lecount, pointing to the wardrobe, but touching
nothing in it. " Surely I see something hanging
in the corner, behind that dark shawl?"

Mrs. Wragge removed the shawl; Mrs.
Lecount opened the door of the wardrobe a little
wider. There—hitched carelessly on the innermost
peg—there, with its white spots, and its
double flounce, was the brown Alpaca dress!

The suddenness and completeness of the
discovery threw the housekeeper, practised
dissembler as she was, completely off her guard.
She started at the sight of the dress. The
instant afterwards, her eyes turned uneasily
towards Mrs. Wragge. Had the start been
observed? It had passed entirely unnoticed. Mrs.
Wragge's whole attention was fixed on the
Alpaca dress: she was staring at it incomprehensibly,
with an expression of the utmost dismay.

"You seem alarmed, ma'am," said Mrs.
Lecount. " What is there in the wardrobe to
frighten you?"

"I'd have given a crown-piece out of my
pocket," said Mrs. Wragge, " not to have set
eyes on that gown. It had gone clean out of my
head—and now its come back again. Cover it
up!" cried Mrs. Wragge, throwing the shawl
over the dress in a sudden fit of desperation.
"If I look at it much longer, I shall think I'm
back again in Vauxhall Walk!"

Vauxhall Walk! Those two words told Mrs.
Lecount she was on the brink of another discovery.
She stole a second look at her watch. There
was barely ten minutes to spare before the time
when Mr. Bygrave might return; there was not
one of those ten minutes which might not bring
his niece back to the house. Caution counselled
Mrs. Lecount to go, without running any more
risks. Curiosity rooted her to the spot, and gave
her the courage to stay at all hazards until the
time was up. Her amiable smile began to harden a
little, as she probed her way tenderly into Mrs.
Wragge's feeble mind.

"You have some unpleasant remembrances of
Vauxhall Walk?" she said, with the gentlest
possible tone of inquiry in her voice. " Or,
perhaps, I should say, unpleasant remembrances
of that dress belonging to your niece?"

"The last time I saw her with that gown
on," said Mrs. Wragge dropping into a chair
and beginning to tremble, " was the time when I
came back from shopping, and saw the Ghost."

"The Ghost?" repeated Mrs. Lecount, clasping
her hands in graceful astonishment. " Dear
madam, pardon me! Is there such a thing in
the world? Where did you see it? In Vauxhall
Walk? Tell me—you are the first lady I have
ever met with who has seen a Ghost—pray tell
me!"

Flattered by the position of importance which
she had suddenly assumed in the housekeeper's
eyes, Mrs. Wragge entered at full length into
the narrative of her supernatural adventure. The
breathless eagerness with which Mrs. Lecount
listened to her description of the spectre's
costume, the spectre's hurry on the stairs, and the
spectre's disappearance in the bedroom; the
extraordinary interest which Mrs. Lecount
displayed on hearing that the dress in the wardrobe
was the very dress in which Magdalen happened
to be attired, at the awful moment when the
ghost vanished—encouraged Mrs. Wragge to
wade deeper and deeper into details, and to
involve herself in a confusion of collateral
circumstances, out of which there seemed to be
no prospect of her emerging for hours to come.
Faster and faster the inexorable minutes flew
by; nearer and nearer came the fatal moment
of Mr. Bygrave's return. Mrs. Lecount looked
at her watch for the third time, without an
attempt, on this occasion, to conceal the action
from her companion's notice. There were
literally two minutes left for her to get clear of North
Shingles. Two minutes would be enough, if no
accident happened. She had discovered the Alpaca
dress; she had heard the whole story of the
adventure in Vauxhall Walk; and, more than that,
she had even informed herself of the number of
the house—which Mrs. Wragge happened to
remember, because it answered to the number of
years in her own age. All that was necessary to
her master's complete enlightenment, she had
now accomplished. Even if there had been time
to stay longer, there was nothing worth staying
for. " I'll strike this worthy idiot dumb with a
coup d'état, " thought the housekeeper, " and
vanish before she recovers herself."