“Oh, ‘nobody’ does,” she replied, pouring out tea; “and it’s only the ‘somebodies’ who don’t! You see, Miss Lestrange, you must pay the penalty of greatness.” “Dear me--witty!” thought Miss Lestrange, and she used the word with as much disapproval as if she meant “wild.” Aloud she merely murmured something irrelevant about Kensington Gardens. It was one of Miss Lestrange’s great social gifts that she could allow an awkward silence to take place without any of the awkwardness adhering to herself. She would sit staring through a tortoiseshell _lorgnette_ with an air which plainly said: “This silence is nothing to me; I can break it whenever I choose--only I don’t choose.” Unfortunately, Edith had the tea-things, which did almost as well. “I think the Lindleys knew your aunt,” said Miss Lestrange at last. “It is so pleasant, is it not, to discover a mutual acquaintance?” “Very,” said Edith. “It’s almost as exciting as making a new relation. Do you take sugar?” “One lump, please. I was delighted to hear of my brother’s impending marriage,” continued Miss Lestrange; “delighted. Of course, I had been expecting it for some time. I have but little faith in inveterate bachelors, and none at all in inveterate widowers. Besides, a sensible marriage for a man of my brother’s age is very desirable. He settles down, the phase of romance is over, and the phase of domesticity sets in; and, of course, it is always a relief when one knows for certain that one’s brother won’t marry a barmaid.” “I can’t fancy Horace marrying a barmaid at any time,” said Edith, smiling. “When you are my age, my dear, you will no doubt live to see, as I have seen, all the things you cannot imagine taking place,” said Miss Lestrange, putting down her tea, which she had not finished, as if she did not like it. There had been things in their conversation which had not pleased her, but this last hit had told (if you go on hitting long enough, some hit generally does). She had expected to find Miss Walton good-looking and good-humored; she had not expected to find her unembarrassed and well-armed. However, Miss Lestrange always dealt with the unexpected as if it was perfectly ordinary, so that no one ever discovered her mistakes. “I believe you are to be introduced shortly to your step-son!” Miss Lestrange began reflectively. “I hope you will take to the poor child.” “I always love children,” said Edith gently. “Ah!” said Miss Lestrange, “that is a refreshing change from the modern note. Annette’s child, however--I refer to my brother’s former wife--is peculiar. Annette was highly sensitive, like a spring blossom, and her son takes after her. I shall be delighted to help you in any way I can upon the subject.” Edith said: “He is coming at five o’clock; I hope very much he won’t dislike me.”