The Dowager Countess of Ilfracombe was an amiable old lady, but she was also very fond and proud of her son, and anxious to preserve his interests. His long friendship with Miss Llewellyn had been a great sorrow to her, and she was rejoiced when she heard that he had made a respectable marriage. But the remarks of her daughter on Nora’s behaviour had made her a little more observant, and for the next few days she watched the young countess narrowly. The consequence of which was that she determined to have a private talk with the girl, and the first time she found her alone she proceeded to the attack. She was a sweet old lady this dowager countess, like her son in many ways, with soft grey curls each side her face, and mild blue eyes and delicately-chiselled features. She drew her chair close to that on which her daughter-in-law sat, carelessly turning over the latest magazines, and laid her withered hand on the girl’s slim, white one,-- ‘Reading, my dear,’ she commenced pleasantly. ‘Is there anything particularly good in the Christmas numbers this year?’ ‘Not much,’ replied Nora, laying the magazine down. ‘The stories are all on the same old lines. I wish they would invent something new. I think it is so silly to imagine that Christmas tales must all take place in the snow, or be mixed up with a ghost. Isn’t it?’ ‘Very silly,’ acquiesced the old lady, ‘but as long as there are fools found to read them there will be fools left to write them. But where is Ilfracombe this afternoon? Has he left you all alone to the mercy of the Christmas numbers?’ Nora laughed. ‘It is my own fault,’ she said. ‘He wanted me to go out driving with him; but I thought it was too cold. So I think he and Mr Portland have walked over to Critington to play billiards with Lord Babbage.’ ‘Ah, I thought dear Ilfracombe had not forgotten his little wife,’ said the dowager in a patronising tone of voice, which Nora immediately resented. ‘He is too good and amiable for that. I am sure that you find him most kind in everything. Don’t you, dear?’ The young countess shrugged her shoulders. ‘So, so; much the same as other young men,’ she answered, and then perceiving the look of astonishment on her mother-in-law’s face, she added, apologetically,--‘You see, Lady Ilfracombe, that I’m not a gusher, and I’ve known so many men I’ve learned to pretty well estimate the value of them.’ ‘Perhaps, my dear, though I cannot say I think the knowledge an enviable one for a young lady. But you do not rank your husband with other men, surely? He loves you dearly--anyone could see that--and you must have a good deal of influence over him.’ ‘Yes, I fancy I’ve got the length of his foot,’ replied Nora.