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"She want you to-day," insisted Dido, obstinately.,"To see me, Miss Dallas?",She ran hastily into the house, as though to escape further conversation on a distasteful subject, while Dido, with her eyes on the ground, remained in deep thought. The old negress knew that she was placed in a perilous position, which might be rendered even more so should Isabella speak freely. But of this she had little fear, as by her conversation with Major Jen the girl had gone forward on a path of concealment whence there was now no retreat. Yet Dido was not satisfied. She did not trust those around her, and she was uneasy as to what might be the result of Jen's pertinacity in investigating both the death of Maurice and the disappearance of the body. Thus perplexed it occurred to her to seek out and consult with Dr. Etwald.,"Haven't heard of it," replied Margaret Howes, with eager interest. "What is it? And who's giving it?",Isabella turned pale, for she guessed what was coming. As Etwald had raised his voice purposely, Maurice, who was standing by the tea-table, also pricked up his ears. Mrs. Dallas, with some curiosity, raised herself to look closer at Etwald and he, seeing that his auditory was attentive, prepared to launch his thunderbolt.,"Deanminster.,I took possession of it and carried it to a bench in the garden that backs up against the purple sprayed lilacs and is flanked by two rows of tall purple and white iris that stand in line ready for a Virginia reel with a delicate row of the poet's narcissus across the broad path. I love my flowers. I love them swaying on their stems in the wind, and I like to snatch them and crush the life out of them against my breast and face. I have been to bed every night this spring with a bunch of cool violets against my cheek, and I feel that I am going to dance with my tall row of hollyhocks as soon as they are old enough to hold up their heads and take notice. They always remind me of very stately gentlemen, and I have wondered if the little narcissus weren't shaking their ruffles at them.,When poor Mr. Carter died, the next day she said, "Now, Mary, you are entirely too young to live all your long years of widowhood alone, and as I am in the same condition, I will let my cottage, and move up the street into your house to protect and console you." And she did—the moving and the protecting.,"It has everything to do with all of us," responded Patricia promptly. "We're just the tail of the comet, you know.","He's a Russian refugee," she said, triumphantly, and as she quickly covered her work again, and they passed out through the little side entrance, she told them the tragic scrap of the model's history that had sifted through the gossip of the work room.,Her eyes strayed about, resting on one group after another till they lighted with sudden interest.,"Yes, yes. You are right!" said Jen, in a bewildered tone. "Still, I cannot believe that Isabella killed Maurice. She loved him dearly, and had no reason to murder him.".