CHAPTER XXII.
JENNY PRASK "I have put out the blue dress with the silver underskirt, madam," said Jenny Prask, knowing well that nothing in Stella Croyle's wardrobe set off so well her dark and fragile beauty.
"Very well, Jenny." Stella Croyle answered listlessly.

She was discouraged by her experience of that afternoon.

She had come to Rackham Park, certain of one factor upon her side, but very certain of that.

She would find no competitor, and lo! the invincible competitor, youth, had put on armour against her! Stella looked in the mirror.

She was thirty, and in the circle within which she moved, thirty meant climbing reluctantly on to the shelf.
"Don't you think, Jenny, the blue frock makes me look old ?" Jenny Prask laughed scornfully.
"Old, madam! You! Just fancy!" Stella Croyle, living much alone, had made a companion of her maid.
There was nothing of Mrs.Croyle's history which Jenny Prask did not know, and very few of her hopes and sorrows were hidden from her.
"My gracious me, madam! There will be nobody to hold a candle to you here!" she said, with a sniff, as she helped Stella to undress.
Stella looked in the glass.