It was said by the Colonel's friends that Mrs. Colonel
had a tongue of her own. Certainly, she ruled her house well and did
her duty; and it was only because of her husband's absence in Scotland
that during this time she was permitting herself the refreshment of a
week or two among the Illuminated.
At about six o'clock Lady Laura announced her intention of retiring
for her evening meditation. Opening out of her bedroom was a small
dressing-room that she had fitted up for this purpose with all the
broad suggestiveness that marks the Higher Thought: decked with
ornaments emblematical of at least three religions, and provided with
a faldstool and an exceedingly easy chair. It was here that she was
accustomed to spend an hour before dinner, with closed eyes,
emancipating herself from the fetters of sense; and rising to a due
appreciation of that Nothingness that was All, from which All came and
to which it retired.
"I must go, dearest; it is time."
A ring at the bell below made her pause.
"Do you think that can be Mr. Vincent?" she said, pleasantly
apprehensive. "It's not the right day, but one never knows."
A footman's figure entered.
"Mr. Baxter, my lady.
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