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impartially. I wonder why? Could it have something to do with the fresh imprint of the missing wedding band upon your finger? You took the ring off less than a year ago, judging by the fair strip of skin above your knuckle. And yet, sadly, you aren’t wearing mourning. I am very sorry for you, sir, and because I am not blind, or innocent, I will conclude that you are a good man who is very angry at some other lady who has badly wronged you.”
    I had never experienced a silence like the one that followed that declaration. I had a vision of Adelaide’s white face, and two dusky, throbbing veins across the agent’s temples. Peter Cartwright appeared to be strangling on something; he kept swallowing and turning his head away as if he were choking on a laugh. I sank heavily into my seat and waited for the storm to hit. No one said anything for a moment; no one dared even to breathe. Then Mr. Porter calmly folded up his newspaper, readjusted his cravat, and turned gravely to his apprentice. “This morning you asked me for a case, young man, and now you have one. I wish you the best of luck. Lady Forrester, Miss Joyce, good day.”
    He bowed crisply to us, smiled frigidly at me, and left the room.
    After he had gone, Adelaide moaned softly and pulled me to my feet. “I am so sorry, Mr. Cartwright. I should not have brought her with me.”
    “Not at all, madam. I am delighted to be of service—to you both. Mr. Porter is still involved, you understand, but he is allowing me to manage the details—under his supervision, naturally. I hope that will be agreeable to you.” There was a glint of satisfaction in the young man’s eyes, but his face was drawn and sober.
    “Mr. Cartwright—” I began timidly, and stopped, for Adelaide had just savagely pinched my arm.
    “Not another word, Dora, do you understand?” she hissed at me.
    “It’s all right, Lady Forrester, technically she did follow my instructions. I asked her not to mention Mr. Sherlock Holmes in Mr. Porter’s presence, and she didn’t. Unfortunately, she chose to mention everything else . Next time I will try to be more precise in my directions.”
    “There will be no next time, sir. I am sending her home tomorrow.”
    “Adelaide!”
    “Hush, Dora. Mr. Cartwright, I will stay in London until I hear from you. You have my address in town. Good afternoon.”
    A grip of iron closed around my elbow, and I felt myself being propelled steadily toward the door. There was no point in protesting anymore; I had been wrong, and there was nothing I could say that would change her mind, in any case. But I could not leave like this; I had to say goodbye properly and squeeze at least one pleasant memory from my sorry trip to London. I did not want to be remembered as the girl who had stupidly lost her temper and been sent home in complete disgrace. There was one last thing I had to do.
    So I left my purse behind.
    As my cousin started down the stairs, I glanced back and saw that Cartwright was standing by the sofa and staring at my little handbag with a perplexed look upon his face. He seemed about to call to me, but then his eyes met mine and he smiled broadly. I gave an innocent little shrug, put a finger to my lips, and shut the door behind me.

 
    A DELAIDE HAD A LOT to say to me when we got home. It was all true, really, and I knew it. I was honestly sorry for my outburst and ashamed that the two men had seen me at my worst. “Curious and quick-witted” was what I had hoped to be; I had never wished to earn the title of a “sixteen-year-old shrew,” as Adelaide now referred to me. I tried to apologize and show her that I regretted my behavior, but my repentance did not change a thing. I was to go back to Newheath the moment she found a chaperone to escort me there. In the meantime, I was to spend my free hours repenting my many failings.
    When she finally left my room, I paced about and considered the best means of escape. I could have asked to call on a