The two occupants of the charming breakfast-parlour of the house in Mount Street had each her head bent over her correspondence on this fine morning in early May, Miss Calverton dealing rapidly with the little heap of cream-laid cards of invitation, letters, and household bills that Harbage, the butler, had placed beside her plate, and Lay Constance Havener brooding over a single missive, very prettily written in a round, firm hand, that appeared to have taken her attention to the exclusion of the rest of her correspondence.