CHAPTER IXA number of things happened that afternoon. None of them appeared at the time to have any special significance, yet each was to take its place in a certain dreadful pattern. It was like the weaving of threads in a tapestry picture—light for gay and dark for grave, red for blood and black for the shadow which was to fall across Vandeleur House and everyone in it. No thread had any value taken singly, but all together they wove the picture.
Mrs. Underwood, packing parcels under Miss Middleton’s gimlet eye, was having it brought home to her that she couldn’t let her thoughts stray to Carola Roland without being pulled up.
“Oh no, Mrs. Underwood, I’m afraid that won’t do. That knot will slip.”
Insufferable woman. She hoped Meade would be properly grateful, and that she was making
