She nodded to mother, laid her hand lightly on Mr. Randolph's arm, who took her down and put her into her carriage. They spoke together for a moment, I watched them from behind the drawing-room curtains, then the carriage rolled away, and the square was left to its usual solid respectability. Doctors' carriages did occasionally drive through it, and flourishing doctors drove a pair of horses as often as not, but the strawberry on the panels showed itself no more for many a long day in that region. At lunch the boarders were in a perfect state of ferment. Even Captain and Mrs. Furlong were inclined to be subservient. Did we really know the Duchess of Wilmot? Captain Furlong was quite up in the annals of the nobility. This was one of his little weaknesses, for he was quite in every sense of the word a gentleman; but he did rather air his knowledge of this smart lady and of that whom he had happened to meet in the course of his wanderings. "There are few women I admire more than the Duchess of Wilmot," he said to mother, "she is so charitable, so good. She was a Silchester, you know, she comes of a long and noble line. For my part, I believe strongly in heredity. Have you known the Duchess long, Mrs. Wickham?" "All my life," answered mother simply. "Really! All your life?" "Yes," she replied, "we were brought up in the same village." The servant came up with vegetables, and mother helped herself. Captain Furlong looked a little more satisfied. Mrs. Armstrong gave me a violent nudge in the side. "I suppose your mother was the clergyman's daughter?" she said. "The great people generally patronise the daughters of the clergy in the places where they live. I have often noticed it. I said so to Marion last night. I said, if only, Marion, you could get into that set, you would begin to know the upper ten, clergymen are so respectable; but Marion, if you'll believe it, will have nothing to do with them. She says she would not be a curate's wife for the world. What I say is this, she wouldn't always be a curate's wife, for he would be sure to get a living, and if he were a smart preacher, he might be a dean by-and-by, or even a bishop, just think of it. But Marion shuts her eyes to all these possibilities, and says that nothing would give her greater torture than teaching in Sunday-school and having mothers' meetings. With her h'artistic soul I suppose it is scarcely to be expected that she should take to that kind of employment. And your mother was the clergyman's daughter, was she not?" "No," I answered. I did not add any more. I did not repeat either that the Duchess happened to be my godmother. I turned the conversation. Mr. Randolph sat near mother and talked to her, and soon other things occupied the attention of the boarders, and the Duchess's visit ceased to be the topic of conversation. On the next evening but one, Mr. Randolph came to my side.