Things were getting straight, Mrs. Pope felt. She had now merely to add
a few touches to the tranquillization of Daphne, and the misdirection of
the twin's curiosity. These touches accomplished, it seemed that
everything was done. After a brief reflection, she dismissed the idea of
putting things to Theodore. She ran over the possibilities of the
servants eavesdropping, and found them negligible. Yes, everything was
done--everything. And yet....
The queer string in her nature between religiosity and superstition
began to vibrate. She hesitated. Then she slipped upstairs, fastened the
door, fell on her knees beside the bed and put the whole thing as
acceptably as possible to Heaven in a silent, simple, but lucidly
explanatory prayer....
She came out of her chamber brighter and braver than she had been for
eighteen long hours. She could now, she felt, await the developments
that threatened with the serenity of one who is prepared at every point.
She went almost happily to the kitchen, only about forty-five minutes
behind her usual time, to order the day's meals and see with her own
eyes that economies prevailed. And it seemed to her, on the whole,
consoling, and at any rate a distraction, when the cook informed her
that after all she _had_ meant to give notice on the day of aunt
Plessington's visit.