Romer's mother, looking intensely cross—it was her form of deep thought—was re-embroidering, with extra little stitches, and unnecessary little French knots, and elaborate little buttonholes that would never see a button, a large and fine piece of embroidery on which she had been working for many months. She had that decadent love of minute finish in the unessential so often seen in persons of a nervous yet persistent temperament.

She was expecting her daughter-in-law. Romer had said, "Val will look in this afternoon."

Valentia arrived, delightfully dressed, and, to the casual observer, looking just as usual, but in her costume there was just that nuance of difference—what was it?—extra sobriety, a more subdued look—some trifle that she had worn last year to suggest to the seeing eye a hint of praiseworthy economy?—at any rate, a shade that other young married women would recognise at once as the right note when calling on one's mother-in-law.

Mrs. Wyburn greeted her with real pleasure, and with far more warmth than she ever showed to her son (her affection for him being authentic). The sight of Valentia, however, always genuinely raised her spirits. She was fascinated by her, and had an obscure desire to gain Valentia's liking, and even admiration—by force, if necessary! At the same time she felt jealousy, disapproval, an odd pride in the girl's charming appearance, and a venomous desire to give her slight pain.

"Romer has been here, I see—I mean, I guess he has by the cigarette. He's the only person who's allowed to smoke here. Yes, Mrs. Wyburn, we're off on Wednesday. Won't you miss us awfully? But I shall be very glad to go. I've really had enough of the season." Val spoke with a shade of weariness.

"No wonder! I suppose you've hardly had one quiet evening at home the last three weeks?"

"Very likely not one. Even when we're quite alone Harry comes round, and often his American friend too."

This was a challenge.

Valentia was sitting opposite the light, dressed in blue, in a black hat of moderate size, looking straight at the elder lady with a smile, and stirring her cup of tea.

Mrs. Wyburn admired her pluck and the fit of her dress.

"Yes, exactly—just what I should have thought. You know what a horror I have of displaying anything in the shape or form of interference, dear Valentia. But, since you've mentioned it yourself, may I just say, doesn't it seem almost a pity that you should never be alone with your husband?"

Valentia began to laugh.

"Oh, really, Mrs. Wyburn, why do you assume that? But of course we're longing for a quiet time. That is why we're going away so early. What delicious China tea! Yours is the only house where one gets it quite like this."

She put down her cup, which was more than half full, with a slight sigh.

"Romer hates China tea too," said Mrs. Wyburn. "It would be really better for your nerves if you'd drink it, my dear."

"And when do you go to Bournemouth?"

"The first week in August. So I shall be able to come down one day—as Romer asked me—before I go, and just have a peep at what you're all doing at the Green Gate."

She smiled with grotesque playfulness."Oh, that will be nice," said Valentia. "It must be looking lovely now. Did Romer say anything else of any importance?"

"He never says much, as you know, important or not! He's very like his poor father, who really used to sit opposite to me for hours at a time without opening his lips."

"A strong, silent man," murmured Val sympathetically. "I know so well what you mean."

"Indeed you don't," snapped Mrs. Wyburn. "He was the weakest creature—morally, I mean, poor dear—that ever breathed. He was a very tall, fine man, but yet any pretty woman could turn him round her little finger! It was his most marked characteristic."

"Fancy! Devoted to you, of course. Romer's often told me."

"I'm sure he hasn't. What can Romer know of my domestic troubles, as he was just four when he lost his poor father? But however that may be, I do hope, Valentia, you will wear warm, sensible clothes for the garden. I never quite like the idea of your sitting out on that little terrace late in the evening with practically nothing on your shoulders. People should be so careful of the night air."

"How thoughtful of you, Mrs. Wyburn! But I have a wrap—I never sit out without a wrap."

"Pink chiffon, I suppose?""Now how did you know? You seem to have second sight!"

"Yes; I guessed as much. Very candidly, dear Valentia, I don't approve of pink chiffon. But we women of an elder generation are never listened to, though our advice is worth hearing, I can tell you."

"Oh no, Mrs. Wyburn, don't say that. What would you advise instead then—a red crochet woollen shawl? I'll get one, of course. How lovely that embroidery is getting that you're doing! I remember last February thinking that it was as beautiful as it could be, and now it is more wonderful still. Let me look."

She bent down her pretty head to admire it.

"Is it my fancy, or the light, or hasn't your hair grown a little brighter in colour lately, Valentia dear?"

"Oh, do you really think so? I'm so glad. I was afraid it was just the same—just as it was in Harry's portrait of me, you know."

"It does look very like the portrait. But, very frankly—you won't mind my saying so?—I think that if it were not quite so fair it would be an improvement."

"Oh, naughty Mrs. Wyburn! Fancy your wanting me to touch up my hair—make it dark at the roots, I suppose, as so many people seem to do! Oh! I wouldn't! What would Romer say? He likes it like this."

Before the elder lady had quite recovered from the blow, Valentia went on carelessly—

"Daphne sent her love to you. She mayn't have time to come and see you before we leave."

"Has she been going to any more fancy balls as Rosalind?" asked Mrs. Wyburn sarcastically.

"No, oh no. There haven't been any more."

"I heard a report—oh, only a report—that Mr. Van Buren is a great admirer of your sister's; indeed, it was even said that they were going to be engaged."

This was really a sore subject to Valentia. Her temper began to waver slightly. It had been a very pet scheme of hers, and only Daphne herself had defeated it by refusing the millionaire. But of course she knew better than to tell Mrs. Wyburn that.

"Oh yes, you heard that. I believe he does admire her very much. But I hope I'm not going to lose Daphne yet."

Something in her expression warned Mrs. Wyburn, who said affectionately—

"Well, there's plenty of time; she's so young. I don't believe in girls marrying till they're sensible women and know something of housekeeping, and are fitted to deal with their servants.""I hope you haven't been having any more trouble with yours lately?"

"Indeed I have! I had just sent for the housemaid to give her notice because she never dusts the lustres properly, when she turned round and gave it—notice, I mean—to me!"

"What a blessing! It saved you the trouble."

"On the contrary, if you knew anything of domestics, Valentia, you would see that it put me in a most awkward position—most awkward; and now I shall have to live at Mrs. Hunt's!"

"To live at Mrs. Hunt's?" repeated Val, as if stupefied. "Why, you're not going to leave your charming house? And who is Mrs. Hunt?—an old friend of yours?"

"Don't you really know who Mrs. Hunt is, Valentia?" Mrs. Wyburn's voice trembled.

"No; I haven't the faintest idea."

"She's a Registry Off——Well, may you never know! Certainly I'm not going to leave my house. The idea of such a thing!"

"Oh, I'm so glad," said Val, getting up. "I'm afraid I must leave it, though. I have so many little things to do before I go. Now, Mrs. Wyburn, take great care of yourself, and I do hope you'll get a nice housemaid quite soon. That sort of thing is so worrying, isn't it?"

Mrs. Wyburn accompanied her to the door, and as usual stood on the landing with her, complaining of various troubles, and finally parted with caressing words and advice about going for country clothes to "a little dressmaker—quite near here—who runs up one's blouses and skirts."

"Does she? Fancy! She must be small! Good-bye!" ...

... "What a woman!" murmured Val as she got into the carriage.

"What a wife for Romer!" exclaimed Mrs. Wyburn as the door shut.