Dr. Jekyll had not been Mr. Hyde and so had not grated on her nerves ; from where she sat she could see the pride of her heart -- the bed of peonies of her own planting and culture , blooming as no other peony plot in Glen St. Mary ever did or could bloom , with peonies crimson , peonies silvery pink , peonies white as drifts of winter snow . Susan had on a new black silk blouse , quite as elaborate as anything Mrs. Marshall Elliott ever wore , and a white starched apron , trimmed with complicated crocheted lace fully five inches wide , not to mention insertion to match . Therefore Susan had all the comfortable consciousness of a well-dressed woman as she opened her copy of the Daily Enterprise and prepared to read the Glen `` Notes '' which , as Miss Cornelia had just informed her , filled half a column of it and mentioned almost everybody at Ingleside . There was a big , black headline on the front page of the Enterprise , stating that some Archduke Ferdinand or other had been assassinated at a place bearing the weird name of Sarajevo , but Susan tarried not over uninteresting , immaterial stuff like that ; she was in quest of something really vital . Oh , here it was -- `` Jottings from Glen St. Mary . '' Susan settled down keenly , reading each one over aloud to extract all possible gratification from it . Mrs. Blythe and her visitor , Miss Cornelia -- alias Mrs. Marshall Elliott -- were chatting together near the open door that led to the veranda , through which a cool , delicious breeze was blowing , bringing whiffs of phantom perfume from the garden , and charming gay echoes from the vine-hung corner where Rilla and Miss Oliver and Walter were laughing and talking . Wherever Rilla Blythe was , there was laughter . There was another occupant of the living-room , curled up on a couch , who must not be overlooked , since he was a creature of marked individuality , and , moreover , had the distinction of being the only living thing whom Susan really hated . All cats are mysterious but Dr. Jekyll-and-Mr . Hyde -- `` Doc '' for short -- was trebly so . He was a cat of double personality -- or else , as Susan vowed , he was possessed by the devil . To begin with , there had been something uncanny about the very dawn of his existence . Four years previously Rilla Blythe had had a treasured darling of a kitten , white as snow , with a saucy black tip to its tail , which she called Jack Frost . Susan disliked Jack Frost , though she could not or would not give any valid reason therefor . `` Take my word for it , Mrs. Dr. dear , '' she was wont to say ominously , `` that cat will come to no good . '' `` But why do you think so ? '' Mrs. Blythe would ask . `` I do not think -- I know , '' was all the answer Susan would vouchsafe . With the rest of the Ingleside folk Jack Frost was a favourite ; he was so very clean and well groomed , and never allowed a spot or stain to be seen on his beautiful white suit ; he had endearing ways of purring and snuggling ; he was scrupulously honest .
And then a domestic tragedy took place XXXXX Ingleside .
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