I'm in just the right humor." The door opened and Margaret whisked round to blast the intruder who had dared adventure her privacy without knocking.

There stood her grandmother--ebon staff in gloved hand--erect, spare body in rustling silk--gray-white hair massed before a sort of turban--steel-blue eyes flashing, delicate nostrils dilating with the breath of battle.
"Ah--Margaret!" said she, and her sharp, quarrel-seeking voice tortured the girl's nerves like the point of a lancet.

"They tell me you have a headache." She lifted her lorgnon and scrutinized the pale, angry face of her granddaughter.

"I see they were telling me the truth.

You are haggard and drawn and distressingly yellow." The old lady dropped her lorgnon, seated herself.